Young Justice: The Gold Corps: Damel-Zahn
by Nitebreaker
Summary: Ragnar's disappeared and Miss Martian is keenly feeling the loss. But elsewhere a threat greater than anything the Team has ever faced arises, with the existence of All That Is at stake. Will they be up to the task? Or will they be history? Legends will be made... Sequel to "Gold Justice." NOW COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

The Gold Corps: Damel-Zahn

Metron's colleague levered his bulk into the command center and plopped down in one of the reinforced chairs. His head hung almost down between his knees, and was breathing in and out in a controlled manner obviously designed for attaining better self-control. _This had to be bad._

"So," said the scientist, rotating his Mobius chair around to face him, after giving his friend enough time to collect himself. "How bad was it?" He was almost afraid of the answer.

Hesitation. Then, "We just lost another three hundred star systems."

"Three? Hundred? _Three hundred?_ I thought…"

"…that the projections called for a max loss of twelve, right. But apparently Vastator has a few tricks up its sleeves. That's generously assumin' its even got sleeves, I mean." He sat up, spreading his hands. "It just…happened." Then he fell silent. There really was nothing else to say.

Metron sat in stunned silence. Though naturally reserved and seemingly unemotional by nature, he nonetheless felt, like all others of his kind, and could only imagine the cataclysmic conflict that it must have been. His projections had actually been skewed rather pessimistically, and now look.

Three hundred whole solar systems, gone. Obliterated, their populace scoured from the face of the cosmos. And that was a best-case scenario.

And in such a way that defied every law of science he was aware of.

…..

Earth, Mt. Justice, Tuesday morning, 0930 hours: Dick Grayson had ventured into the kitchen on a foraging mission, just to see if there was anything edible he could put in his mouth. He thought he'd spied a bag of Doritos, somewhere…hopefully, Wally hadn't found them first. Wally had a bad habit of eating all but a few of the chips, often at super-speed, then leaving the practically empty bag behind.

Even before he got to the small kitchen area, he acute hearing picked up on a rattling of pots and pans and other subtle sounds that signified someone else's presence. And…he could pick up the slight hitch of breath, the pronounced sniffle, and that ever so slight moist scent of someone who's been crying buckets. Particularly if that someone was female.

Miss Martian, Megan Morse, was standing listlessly at the sink, dressed in her nightgown and robe, trying, half-heartedly, to clean off some of the detritus from the previous night's pizza. Even though she was a shape-shifter, she still couldn't hide the reddened eyes, the tracks of tears running down her face… "Megan? What's wrong? Aren't you supposed to be in school now? And, where's Ragnar?" He immediately knew he'd said the exact wrong thing by the way her whole _face_ seemed to crack, and she began weeping in earnest.

He came up to her and took her in his arms. "Hey. C'mon. What's wrong? I mean, I know you came back last night, all upset—okay, madder'n hell—about something. Did…did you two have a fight? Or something?"

For a moment, she just lay there, her head nestled against his chest, while she fought for control. "It….I….Oh, it was horrible! Dick, I…" She sniffled, and he got her a paper towel. She blew her nose into it, and tried to dry her tears. "It….He…oh, I don't know!"

"I heard that this 'Doomsday' thing got handled. Is Ragnar alright? He wasn't hurt, was he? I know he didn't report back in…"

More tears. "No, he didn't. A-and, I waited up for him, a-all night, b-but he…." But this only provoked a fresh round of sobbing.

_Okay, this is bad,_ thought Dick. He was glad the others weren't in, especially Wally, who, true to his impulsive nature, usually just made matters worse. His intentions were good, though; it was just, sometimes he spoke or acted before he thought. _Make that all the time_. "Come on, come over here." And he led her over to the couch in front of the TV set. The fact that she was still in her robe and gown, at this hour of the morning, was in itself a worrisome sign, as she normally NEVER came out unless fully garbed either for school or duty. "Now. Settle down. That's it. Just lean back against the couch. Take your time." After a few minutes, she seemed to get herself under control. "Now, tell me what happened."

And so over the next few minutes, she related the whole story: her and Ragnar's discovery of the psychic booby-trap implanted in him by his geneticist parents, the purpose behind his going out to face the monster, his manipulation of her, her reaction to said manipulation, everything. "A-and, I, I waited up for him, so, so I could, you know…and we could…you know…I mean…." She leaned back, hands over her face, exhausted, her emotions wearing her out from the inside.

"Okay, hang on a minute." A quick call to the Watchtower: "J'onn, is Hal Jordan or John Stewart there?"

"_Both are here. Do you need them?"_

"Please." When Hal came on, Dick asked him what had happened the previous night, with the monster Doomsday's being sighted in the solar system.

"_Yes, I wasn't there, but from all reports, your Gold Lantern and Miss Martian seemed to do an effective tag-team number on the monster. Only now, Ragnar's disappeared, and both the Corps and these New Gods are looking for him. So far, no-one's found him, or Doomsday's body."  
_  
"Do you suppose he could've gone back to his ship, back on that deserted world?"

"_First place we checked. He's not there, nor has he been there. We dusted,"_ Hal added, referring to the scanning process by which GL's and others determined whether or not a certain place had been revisited since the last time anyone had been there. This process differed, from case to case, but was usually fairly accurate with coarse data. "_And I gather, from your questions, that he hasn't showed up there, either."_

"Too right. Any way to trace him?"

"_No. Ever since his ring changed like that, for some reason, it doesn't send out the same kind a signal, the same kind of energy signature, like yellow rings normally do. Any idea where he might could've gone?"_

"Unknown, sir." _But I have a personal interest in finding him._ Behind him, that personal interest sneezed, coughed, and blew her nose again. She was calmer now, he judged, but….

After closing the connection, he went over and sat by Megan. "Okay, Megan. Now. Let's go over this nice and easy. Apparently, we aren't the only ones trying to find him. So…tell me everything, okay?"

…..

"_Damel-zahn,_" muttered Metron, to himself. He was watching the latest readouts. They were anything but encouraging; the phenomenon they had labeled Vastator was slowly but surely making its way across the galaxy, and there didn't seem to be anything anyone could do to stop it.

If even gods can't stop something….

For now, they had a bit of a rest period, which he'd used to catch up on reports. Often, during these times, he found himself missing the support of Highfather Izaya. He and Highfather might not have always agreed on many things, but Metron had always appreciated the elder god's wisdom and leadership. But Highfather, along with Orion and many other of the New Gods, had been among the first to fall, not all that many years ago….

"What's that?" asked his partner.

"_Damel-zahn._ Or _damel-zahm_ in some, depending upon the tense, context and usage." Metron sat back and rested his elbows on the armrests of his Mobius chair, letting his chin rest on his steepled fingers. "It refers to a concept more than a substantial thing, and not all cultures have it. Though it is sometimes used to refer to certain individuals. Only those cultures who have some knowledge or theory of parallel universes or alternate timelines have the term, or its equivalent. _Damel-zahn_ refers to a turning point in one's world's timeline, a time when things could have taken a different path, so to speak. When events could have turned out a different way. A variation was known as the 'Butterfly Effect' on Earth."

"Earth," grunted his associate, "Never thought of Earthlings as having that much sophistication. They never developed time travel, did they? Not on any really workable basis. But I guess they had the concept." Earth had been one of the first of many star systems to fall before the literally inconceivable might of Vastator. "So. Why've you been thinking about that?"

Metron swiveled his Mobius chair to face his colleague. "If we could determine, at any one point in time, when a certain sequence of events could be altered so as to preclude our current plight…"

"I think I see what you're saying. Go back and stop all this before it actually gets started. But won't that cause a paradox in the time stream? Maybe make matters worse?"

Metron sighed and closed his eyes. "Making matters worse…is no longer a possibility."

…

"….a-and I told him I never wanted to see him again. I didn't mean it! Not like that!" Pause. "Well, maybe at the time I did, but.."

"I understand, Megan. We all say things we regret, sometimes. So you think he just took off, taking you at your word?"

_Sniff._ "Yeah. I mean, I guess, anybody else, they'd have…I don't know, kinda… something. Or at least not actually _done_ anything, not gone off anywhere, and, and we…coulda worked things out. But, but how else was he _supposed_ to take it? Oh, _what_ could I have been thinking!"

"Megan, you're being too hard on yourself. Come here," he said, drawing her onto his shoulder. "Truth is, you were partially right. He _did_ manipulate you. He might've had the best of reasons, but the ends don't always justify the means. So…try to look at it like that. It was…just an error in judgment. A hasty decision. But hasty decisions, mistakes…all those can be cleared up. They don't have to be forever. Maybe you just both owe each other an apology? See? That would fix things, wouldn't it? In fact, a good, heartfelt apology would fix everything." Pause. "Now, look, you're in no shape for school today anyway. You're a literal basket case; it's taking all your concentration just to stay in humanoid form. You get any worse, and I'll have to go find a five-gallon bucket to carry you back to your room in. Maybe two; you've put on a little weight lately." He waited. She didn't even glance at him. If even _that _didn't get a rise out of her…"So I'll call 'em and tell 'em you've got, oh, something. The flu, maybe. No, wait: we used that one two weeks ago. I'll think of something. You go on back to bed, and I'll contact J'onn and the GLs, maybe see if they can ask any of the other power ring types. Or L.E.G.I.O.N. Or the Darkstars….I mean, _somebody's_ gotta have seen the guy. Okay?" He tilted her face up to his, smiled his bravest smile. "He can't stay hidden forever, especially if he's got Doomsday's body with him. That'd be kinda hard to conceal, wouldn't you think? He can't just slip it in a hip pocket or, or stick a lampshade on its head or something. So buck up. We _will _find him, somehow. Now, go on, try to get some sleep. 'Kay?"

She dropped her gaze. "Thanks, Dick." But once she'd gone, he allowed his expression to fade into one of doubt.

Space was vast. If Ragnar really didn't want to be found….

…

"I believe I have located a focal point, a _damel-zahn_, for our particular issue." Metron showed his scans to his friend. The graphs fluctuated wildly, but all converged on one particular point, not all that far in the past.

His partner grunted, over his shoulder, resting his hands on Metron's chair. "But what can we do with this? Can we really go back in time and, and, what? Change things? Make it so it didn't happen? How?"

"We not only can, we must; my projections indicate that the core worlds, the last hold-outs in this part of the universe, will fall within a week."

…..

Mt. Justice: "Hal? Nightwing. Look, are you guys sure you have no clue where Ragnar Rok could've gone? I know you need to find him for your own reasons, but…have you checked with anyone else? I mean, the Citadel, the Reach, other ringslingers, everybody?"

"_We're in the process of doing so now, Nightwing. But I'm sensing something a bit more personal than a purely professional interest here."_

Dick sighed. "Yeah. Seems…well, not to get into too much detail, Megan and Ragnar kinda got into it. Now she's convinced she's responsible for his absence. She's tearing herself up over it. And well, she may have a sort of a point. I mean, they _did_ have an argument…"

"_I'm sorry to hear that, but I don't know any more on the matter than I've already said. From what Kilowog said, they did have a bit of a spat. We're doing the best we can. And you don't know: he could turn up there. Maybe not at Mt. Justice, but somewhere on Earth. We can't seem to track that ring of his, so anything's possible."_

"Thanks, Hal." He sighed. This wasn't helping, but he honestly didn't know what would.

Could this affair (and he winced at the word) get any more fubar'd?

…

The City of New Genesis: the influx of refugees had sorely tested the ability of the few remaining gods to place them all. They'd begun procedures to make the barren planet below them more habitable, but that required time, and Vastator wasn't giving them any.

They were also getting ready to attempt to move the entire world, but Metron privately doubted they'd have the time for that.

"Move along, come along, people," urged Metron's colleague, ushering frightened humanoids out of the boom tube, "just follow the guards there; they'll get you placed…"

One little boy was crying. "My snogrel! I had to leave him behind!" The others tried to shush him, but the lieutenant came over to him, knelt down, and placed a hand on the boy's shoulders. "Where is your snogrel? And what's his name?"

"He…he's back there…."The boy gestured back towards the still-open boom tube. "His name's Aoli."

"Aoli, got it." The giant stood up, and headed towards the boom tube, an expression of determination on his face. "I'll get 'im, kid." And without another word, he shouldered his way back to the endangered world.

Into the swirling eyes of the worst monster any universe had ever known. The boy's hopeful eyes followed the hero as he plunged back into the transuniversal nightmare they were all trying to get away from.

"Come on, kid," said one of the guards. "If anybody in all creation can save your pet, _he's_ the guy."

Back on the endangered world: the figure stopped, getting his bearings. From what he'd gathered, the boy and his family had lived just a few blocks over. A good place to start.

The sky overhead bore that indescribable mélange of colors that always signaled the Enemy's initial attack. First the sky or space would be visibly affected, then—if all reports were accurate—reality itself began to go askew. _Up_ was no longer _up._ It might be "down," or even some direction impossible for humanoid minds to comprehend.

Once that happened, the world, the star system itself, was lost. They had never recovered even so much as a pebble from a Taken zone. He had no desire to find out what happened to those beings trapped within such a zone. He had a hunch he _really_ wouldn't like the answer.

_C'mon,_ he thought. _It's not over yet._ He made his way through the rubble of the streets towards the city block he'd identified as being the boy's. His biggest fear was that he find the boy's pet already dead or….converted. (And converted into what? Nobody, not even Metron, was exactly sure. There weren't even any _theories_.) He wasn't sure how he'd explain that to the child.

But he and loss were old acquaintances…

His enormous strength enabled him to easily shift the broken walls aside, and he did so, throwing them behind him. There was no point in subtlety; and anyway, subtlety had never been one of his strong points. Nothing had ever stopped him before; a few measly tons of soft brick weren't about to now.

Underneath a pile of rubble was a small, long-eared animal, trapped and terrified by the strangeness all around. "I'm gonna hope you answer to the name Aoli," said the giant, fully aware that the animal couldn't talk back. "I told your boy I'd come get you. So c'mon, pal." He shifted another piece of wall, only to have it break in half. He elbowed it aside. "Let's blow this place. Neighborhood's going downhill, anyway." And he cradled the animal gently in his massive arms, turning back towards the boom tube aperture at a dead run…

Yes, he and loss were old acquaintances, indeed. But not today. Not this time.

…..

Miss Martian awoke, and was immediately conscious of her loss. How she wished she could wake up and just see his face….that same clueless, innocent face that had first attracted her attention. Just to see that blue face over her…or perhaps, even…beside her.

Or…maybe just not wake up at all. Just keep sleeping.

She shut her eyes against the pain. How could she go on like this? How much more could she take? She was no good to anybody like this.

She'd been infuriated with him for manipulating her. But hadn't she manipulated Conner? Hadn't she tried, in a way, to manipulate, affect others around her? Maybe that was why she had gotten so angry at him: it's hard to go from being the manipulator to being the one manipulated. He just hadn't used any psychic powers, that was the only real difference.

She didn't know all the particulars of his actions regarding Doomsday, but privately, she couldn't help but wonder: had he made off with Doomsday's body…

….or had Doomsday made off with _his?_

Surrounded by a black cloud of personal misery, she wandered back into the main rec room. Nightwing was not in evidence, but he'd left several computer programs compiling. Still sniffling, she made her way to the small kitchen. Just clean something, Megan. Or bake something. Clean something that's been baked, or bake something already cleaned. Or… It won't matter what. Just something to be doing something.

"_*crackle* -on of New Genesis. Repeat: My name is Metron of New Genesis. Can anybody hear me?"_ What? What was this?

She moved back into the rec room. Immediately over the widescreen, a fuzzy holographic image seemed to be trying to congeal. It looked like a picture from an old cathode-ray television, distorted by static. _"Repeat: My name is Metron of New Genesis. Can anybody hear me? Please respond if you can. It is a matter of utmost urgency."_

Miss Martian hit the alarm button.

…

Soon, Nightwing, Aqualad, and Artemis had convened, along with her, all of them paying rapt attention to the voice from Somewhere Else. "Yes, we can hear you. Can you hear us?"

"_*Crackle**static*…-sage repeats. I am Metron of New Genesis. Can anyone hear me? Please respond."_

"We hear you, Metron of New Genesis. Can you hear us? This is Nightwing, the Team, Mt. Justice, Earth. Can you read us?"

"_*Crackle*. Yes. I can read you. And it so happens you are the very ones I needed to contact. We…have something of a situation here, in what is to you the near future, and we've determined that one of the causes of our desperate conditions may lie within your purview. Are you able to receive files in this format?"_

"Yes. Give me a moment to prepare an appropriate receptor…" Nightwing muttered, even as he readied a stand-alone computer to receive the files. Just because the image claimed to be Metron of New Genesis didn't mean it _was_ Metron of New Genesis.

And, even it was, given their past associations, there was some understandable questions as to said party's true intentions.

"Alright. Send what files you have. But you mentioned 'desperate conditions.' Can you elaborate?"

"_This transmission is being sent through time to what I calculate to be the correct year. If my projections are correct, your universe has less than twenty years left to live. Quite a bit less, in fact. Maybe less than a decade."_

The team members looked at each other. _Ten years?_

"_And, moreover, part of the crux of the cause for this universal extinction effect lies with you."_

What?

"Ah, yes. I see the files being downloaded now. What else can you tell us about this…this event? You say we're the cause of it?"

"_Not you personally. But the tides of probability swirl around you and yours, indicating that you in some measure have had a bearing on recent events. The files you are currently receiving will show the beginning of the source of our…problem. It coincides with your time, and there is indication that it appears to have taken place not all that far from you, though, be it admitted, that is a relative term. Lightyears are still lightyears, and I am handicapped by not knowing what you already know, or what has already transpired as of this receiving. However, from your questions and demeanor, it stands to reason that you are, at this point in time, in complete ignorance regarding our woes._

"_As I said, this message is coming to you from what would be your future, approximately, if my calculations are correct, about twenty years into your future. In this time, the universe, indeed, the very cosmos itself, will then be in grave jeopardy."_

"What's happening?"

"_There is…something. It defies all logical and rational thought, and adamantly refuses to be analyzed in any useful manner. We have taken to calling it 'Vastator,' and it is threatening to overwhelm us all here, in your future." _The projection of Metron's face grew very solemn. _"Indeed, even though I very much hate to admit it, I would say the battle has already been lost. We are…simply waiting to be…claimed."_

"Who or what is 'Vastator'?"

"_Something that defies every law of physics or metaphysics I've ever encountered. You will see, in the files I've just sent you. It appears out of nowhere, and…consumes whole star systems, even whole galaxies."_

"What about the Green Lan-*"

"_All gone. Every color of Lantern has gone up against it, and has had no more effect than that of a droplet of water against a supernova. Oa…cannot even be found. Apokolips…Darkseid came to __us__, actually seeking help from __us,__ albeit in his own self-serving way, when it first appeared. Perhaps that gives you an idea as to the…magnitude, not to mention the gravity, of the situation we face._

"_I can do no more here. I would like to send my lieutenant—my friend—back to your time, in the hopes that, with his assistance, you and those who stand with you may be able to prevent this…this holocaust from taking place. I must remain here, and see to the…relocation of what few people we have been able to save. I've a theory, or maybe more of a hope: perhaps, somewhere in hypertime, there is a hidden worldline, a safe zone beyond at least the immediate range of Vastator. But I cannot do that from anywhere but here._

"_My friend will be of great help to you, I believe. He is one of the greatest heroes of our age."_

The team members looked at each other. This was a lot to take in, all at once. Just a few hours ago, the worst thing most of them were worried about was a pop quiz at school. This development gave new meaning to the term "comprehensive final." "We'll certainly appreciate his help, sir." _With, of course, some perfectly reasonable precautions._ Dick had learned the hard way that those who pose as friends were occasionally anything but.

"_Excellent. I am sending him back with some files I told him shouldn't be sent through time. At least, that's my plan. I will actually be seeing to his transportation tomorrow at this time, but will set the controls so as to cause him to materialize there amongst you in ten of your minutes. Every second counts. And…I wish all of you well in this, our mutual endeavor."_

"Alright. Wally! Initiate temporal reception protocols! Computer! We're going to be getting some company any second now. Command protocol over-ride delta phoenix: deactivate defense system. Also, ring up the Watchtower; tell whoever's on shift what's going on, and put 'em online. Anybody and everybody."

The face hanging in mid-air took on a sympathetic expression. _"I understand your caution. But I cannot praise my ally enough. He is not only mighty and courageous, but also extremely loyal and, in the past, has proven to be more than willing to hurl himself in harm's way to save another. He has been invaluable to me…during this time of crisis. I hope he will be to you, too._

"_I hope….that where gods have failed, you and he may triumph."_ And the image faded.

"Okay, people," Nightwing rose, already pointing out several team members. "Superboy, I need you…" He started to say, _and Ragnar_, but reminded himself just in time, "and M'gann to stand by, be here—at least I guess it's here—when this guy arrives. Megan? You, uh, up for this?" This might be just what she needed, he thought. Something to take her mind off things…

"Y-yes, Dick. At least, I will be." With a thought she changed her robe into her "work" clothes, the familiar red harness and modest blue skirt…(and which caused Dick to wonder: did M'gann normally wander about the complex actually naked, using her shape-shifting powers to give the illusion of wearing clothes? Not that it really mattered, right at that moment…)

Over by the wall, near the entrance to the cave that served as their front door, a form was materializing. A huge form, at least nine feet tall and almost as broad, a figure carrying a stack of datacubes…

…And every team member stepped back, staring in shock, mouths actually hanging open, as the massive figure stepped nimbly out of the time transporter's field of influence, and approached them.

"You must be Nightwing. Metron said you'd be needing these," said Doomsday, offering the cubes to Nightwing.

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2: Strangeness

Young Justice: The Gold Corps: Damel-Zahn, chapter 2: Strangeness

The team members were literally frozen in position, regarding the figure before them. That same figure waited a moment, then fidgeted. "Uh, 'scuze me, but…you _are_ Nightwing, right? Metron said you'd be needing these." And he once again proffered the 'cubes.

There hadn't been many times in Dick Grayson's entire life when he'd literally been rendered speechless. This, however, was one of those times. Without a word, he reached out and took the cubes from the giant gray form in front of him. Later on, he'd never be able to remember doing that. Doomsday? "Uh, D-Doomsday?"

"Yeah, Metron warn—I mean, told me about that, said that's what you'd probably call me. Anyway, here. I gotta get back…we're tryin' ta move the entire planet, but the plate tectonics are a bi—uhm, a bit of a problem," he said, glancing at the female members of the group. "So, if you'll excuse me…" And he stepped back, touched what looked like a commbadge on his belt.

Nothing happened. He touched it again. Then two more times in rapid succession. Finally, he unclipped it from his belt and held it up to eye level. On him, that was over nine feet off the floor. "Metron. I _know_ you didn't do what I think you just did." He shook the unit, mumbling at it; a bit of high-tech semimagic often employed by humans and humanoids driven to frustration over nonfunctioning mechanisms.

Nightwing had one exquisite moment, when he glanced away from the hulking gray form in front of him, chancing to catch a glimpse of the open link to the Watchtower. Later on, he would wish he'd thought to set the computer to take a picture of Wonder Woman, standing at the monitor screen, face pale, mouth agape in shock. It probably would have fetched quite a price on Ebay.

….

"Uhm, Let's, uh, go over some things…uhm...say, what do they call you, uptime?" Nightwing asked, using the catchphrase they'd come to use for travelers from future epochs.

The moving mountain in front of him was looking distractedly at the tiny-seeming comm. unit. "C'mon, don't leave me stranded back here, you _need_ me." He glanced up. "Uh, Doomsday'll do. I don't plan on being here long enough to….c'_mon_." He shook the unresponsive unit again. The badge looked almost microscopic in his huge hands.

_Okay,_ thought Dick,_ if this were one of the older Warner Brothers cartoons, this is the part where the cat shoots himself because now he's literally seen everything._ "While you're, uhm, working on that…say, Khaldur, can you take a look at that unit? Thanks. Uh, would you mind stepping over this way? We'd, we'd like to get some more information."

The giant sighed, handing the "defective" unit to Aqualad. Nobody even noticed Nightwing's using Aqualad's real name… "I'll be glad to tell you what I know, but that's not really a whole lot. All I really know is, about twenty, maybe a little more than that ago…I mean, about right now, y'unnerstand—this…I guess you'd have to call it a _thing_ appeared outta nowhere, and started swallowing up anything that got close. No communication. No warnings. No real energy signature, even. Just boom. People, ships, worlds, stars, galaxies. Even black holes, dark matter, dark energy. Didn't matter what. No real gravitational field associated with it, or, say, a magnetic or electric field, like you'd normally expect with something like a black hole or some other such phenomenon. Just…a _place_ beyond and into which you couldn't see. But it wasn't black, like space is black. It…there are no words to describe the color, because it isn't a color at all. It's more like…" Doomsday paused, obviously searching for words to describe that which cannot be described, "More like an _absence_ of…pretty much everything. Even darkness. Only thing was…it didn't stay put. It started reaching out and touching people. For keepsies. The most populated worlds first. And one other thing we know, or perhaps I should say, assume, about it: it seems to be alive. Not life as anybody would call it, but it displays all the properties normally associated with living organisms, including reproduction." Casually, Doomsday moved into the main rec hall, completely oblivious to their continued stares. He glanced around, and, not seeing any furniture that would hold his weight, simply sat, crosslegged on the floor. Even so seated, he was still taller than some members of the group. "And we tried everything. You name it, we tried it. Nothing worked. I mean, will work. Well, you know.

"No signals, no attempts to communicate, no outpouring of hard or soft radiation, no….well, nothing, actually. You got that unit functioning yet?" He asked Aqualad, who had been busy trying to see if the connections were active. Aqualad handed the badge back to Doomsday. "I, uh, I can't find anything wrong with it."

The creature they called Doomsday sighed, leaning forward and closing his eyes; a gesture of weariness more associated with resignation than physical exhaustion. "I hope… hope he's…" The moment passed, and the massive form in front of them seemed to gather himself. "I sincerely hope he didn't send me back here to get me out of harm's way. If he did, we are definitely gonna have words about it."

Megan heard those words, the very words she'd thought but never said, and did something she'd never done before: she broke down sobbing, and ran from the room.

Doomsday looked up, following her with his eyes, as she ran out the door. He turned to the others, total bewilderment on his craggy face. "What's wrong with her?"

…

The Watchtower: there wasn't a hero on the planet who wasn't, in some way, tuned into the developments at Mt. Justice. Some of the League members had wanted to transport down immediately, but J'onn had nixed that. The creature was _already there,_ and a hostile response would generate more confusion, and goodness knew they already had all they needed of that.

"_Okay,"_ began J'onn, _"I believe we can safely say this is a case for more information. Nightwing. Can you delegate somebody to uploading those files to our system?"_ He didn't ask Dick himself to do it, and everybody knew why: this was _Doomsday._ Even if Nightwing wasn't anywhere near Doomsday's weight class, his presence as leader could be needed.

"Uhm, sure. Aqualad? Would you mind?" Khaldur got up and began to see to the transfer. His movements were almost wooden, as though he had to think abot each action before doing it; too many shocks over the course of the past hour.

"Are you _really Doomsday?_" Wally's voice was barely a squeak. When the call had come in, every member of the Team had, in their own way, a way prepared long before for just such situations, managed to excuse themselves from their regular educational schedules, with the result that Kid Flash was now within arm's length of the most feared killing machine in the universe.

A killing machine who kept looking off, concernedly, down the hallway, the same one Megan had just disappeared down. "Is that green girl alright? She, uh, took off pretty quick. It wasn't something I said, was it?"

_You might say that,_ thought Dick. "Uh, long story." _One that you—or a version of you—are a part of. But later._ "But what can you tell us about this Vastator?"

The giant sighed again. "Not much. Even Metron couldn't puzzle it out. Every technical readout, every measurement we have, was in those cubes I just gave you. But the overall stuff: twenty years ago—your today—something, we don't know what, exactly, took place somewhere between here and the galactic edge. The first sign of trouble was a routine probe not reporting in. No big; those things are produced on the cheap, 'cause some hardcases like to use 'em for target practice. But the thing was, even though it was offline, we still got its carrier wave.

"That's…been pretty much the start. Soon the area was growing. Alternate realities. Whole universes fell before the thing; this one, one of the first. So Metron's right when he said you—make that 'we'—don't have long.

"How do we know it's consuming things? Why couldn't it be just some big damn black hole? Well, in a way I never really understood, evidently Metron's people—the New Gods—seem to have, like, contacts?—among both the dead and the damned. Nekron's dimension was overrun not long thereafter, and nothing's been heard from Trigon, one way or the other.

"So whatever it is, isn't just killing people. It's…_consuming_ them, somehow. _Converting_ them. Into what, nobody knows. We only know it seems to be at least as permanent a condition as death was once thought to be. But the souls of the ones it consumes aren't showing up in the usual places.

"So, you see, I really _don't_ have much information to give you. I wish I did. It's…" And here, the giant paused, and Nightwing would later think that he'd missed _another_ Kodak moment: an expression of pain on Doomsday's face. "It's…been…very _frustrating_, I guess you'd say. I've never lacked for any amount of raw physical power, but this is beyond me. I don't have the kind of strength needed to stop this thing." And he looked at them, from his position on the floor.

The chiming of the Watchtower's teleport system broke into whatever anyone else was about to say. J'onn J'onzz, Superman, Wonder Woman, Hal Jordan, and Flash materialized in the already crowded area.

The creature they were calling Doomsday looked up at their approach. "Were you able to glean anything from those files? Metron said it would take you a little time, but I have no idea how fast your computers are, in this day and age."

Superman approached warily, every muscle tensed. Doomsday noticed that, and wondered why. What was going on here? Who was this man in blue and red? The others he recognized from Metron's history files, but this one was unfamiliar to him. "We've…made some headway." The Man of Steel looked at the monster that had once killed him, noting the light of intelligence in the creature's red-litten eyes. It hadn't been there any of the times when they'd fought.

He wasn't sure if that was a positive thing or not.

But one thing Superman had always firmly believed in was that everybody deserves a second chance. Even Doomsday. "Nightwing? What, uh, have you told our guest about, about…things?" _About himself, in other words._ Even as he asked, he wondered how this could be: was this "a" Doomsday from another timeline or something? It surely couldn't be the one he'd fought…

"I was just getting to that. Uh, Doomsday, if you'll step over here, I'll open the file we have here on you. It…might explain a few things."

….

Forty-five minutes later: Doomsday sat, crosslegged, in front of the monitor, with what could only be described as a stunned expression on his face. "But…but…I mean…that wasn't…I never…" How could he grasp it? The file in front of him had definitely been about him, or someone or something very much like him, but the creature depicted was anything _but_ him.

But now, the green girl's reaction—as well as the others-was beginning to make more sense. "Metron, that's _something else_ we're gonna haveta talk about, when I get back." Then, to both Nightwng and Superman: "I'm really very sorry. I had no idea." He looked off down the hallway. "Should—should I go, I dunno, apologize to her or, or something?" He unfolded endlessly from the floor as he spoke.

"I think, uh, Doomsday, that this is one of those things we'll just have to play by ear."

….

Miss Martian was seriously considering walling herself up in her room. Now if she just had some bricks. Oh, and maybe some mortar…

Okay, it wasn't enough that she'd lost the only guy she'd ever really cared about. It wasn't enough that he was gone, leaving a large, Ragnar-shaped hole in her heart, and she had no idea where to find him. No, even _that_ would've been way too simple.

No, the _very monster_ that had precipitated the whole fiasco was _right here,_ in the same _freaking complex_ as she was….did the universe just have it in for her, was this somebody's idea of a supersick cosmic joke or something?

There was a knock on the door. "Go away!" She didn't feel like seeing anybody right then.

"I'm sorry," came Doomsday's voice from the other side. "I…just wanted to tell you that."

She yanked open the door. The giant's gray form stood there in front of her in the hallway. "What did you say?"

Doomsday looked down at his green-booted feet. Miss Martian found she couldn't help but be a little…touched?...by the simple gesture. "I'm sorry. The, the others explained it—well, some of it—to me. I'm sorry if my coming here…caused you pain."

What to say in a case like this? Megan felt as though she was about to go into mental china melt syndrome. "You…you couldn't have known. At least, I don't guess…you could have…." The version of the being in front of her that she and Ragnar had faced was obviously a very different creature.

"Well, I did want you to know that, anyway. Uhm, I've a question: Does anybody on this planet, at this time period, have translight technology? Faster than light travel?"

She thought, trying to reign in her thoughts, which seemed to want to run around the inside of her skull like a NASCAR race driver. "No. Oh, some individuals do, I suppose. The Justice League would probably come the closest to having anything along those lines. But I don't know of anybody who, who just has…why do you want to know, anyway?"

The giant ticked off the points off on his fingers. "One, we know that Vastator started just about here, or at least so close to 'here', both in time and space, as to make no difference, from a multiuniversal standpoint, anyway. Two, from what the others have said, nobody knows diddley-squat about this gold ring I keep hearing about. Except that it, and its user, are missing.

"And right about now, not all that far from here, Vastator comes into being. I can't see that as being completely coincidental. Can you?" He hesitated, then plunged ahead. "Tell me…and I know this is a sensitive subject for you, but it could be important, for more than one reason…did Ragnar's ring ever exhibit any…like, _weird_ or life-threatening effects?"

She thought, again hard. It was actually getting a little easier, once she began to focus on facts, rather than her feelings. "There, there was that time when it seemed like his ring attacked him, someway, and he dreamed, or had a vision, that he was responsible for the deaths of worlds. But we took that to mean yo-* Uhm. I mean…"

"You took it to mean me. It's okay; in your shoes, I'd have done the same thing. But…given what I know, that sounds more like Vastator. I think Vastator got started a bit before this, er, conflict you two had with, uhm, that version of me. I think it got started here. At Mt. Justice. Tell me: did you ever see, or hear from, Sarah Marshall again?"

"N…no. Not really. There was that time, back on Ragnar's home world, when he _thought_ she might have been there. But neither of us ever saw her. Why?"

The giant stroked his chin spikes thoughtfully. "Do you suppose this 'Sarah Marshal' might _be_ Vastator?"

Megan shook her head. "I don't see it. I mean, all she ever did was help…"

"But look at me. In the timeline I come from, I'm, well, I'm…like you see. But here, in this timeline…" She saw where he was headed. Could Vastator be another version of Sarah Marshall? "Bottom line: I gotta find some way of finding this young man of yours and bringing him back here. I'll find 'im, and, if I have to, drag 'im back here by the scruff of the neck. Him being gone doesn't help anything, anyway. And I gotta strong hunch that, if I aim for points between here and the nearest edge of the galaxy, I'll probably find him. Don't know why I think that, but it's a hunch. But first I gotta get transportation. I can fly, but only at sublight speeds. I'm thinkin' his top speed is probably a good bit faster."

"Why the edge?"

"Not sure. 'Cause it's what I'd do? But I just think that's the way he headed." He turned to go. "So…I'll go find him, and bring him back here. Then you and he can work it all out. It's really very simple."

Her eyes moisted over again. "I, I don't know if we could ever…."

"Oh, _please._" The monster actually rolled his red eyes. "Tell me something: if he were to appear, right here, right now, what would you do?"

"I, I…"

"Would you forgive him?"

"I…"

"Look. Here's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna find _somebody_ on this planet who's got FTL tech. And I'm gonna go drag his ass back here. Then, you two can, can…do whatever you will. But you'll have the _chance_. I'm gonna _see_ to it. Personally.

"So…you be thinking about what you're going ta say, and what you'll say to what he says. 'Kay? Things are seldom as bad as we make 'em out to be, anyway. And you'll see: the two of you _can_ work things out, if only you will. If only you _want_ to. Got it?" He made as to leave.

"Why?"

That caught him off-guard. "What do you mean?"

"Why are you doing this? Do you, do you feel, like, responsible or something?"

Doomsday hesitated. Then, "Miss Martian. Do you know what the most terrifying sound in all creation is?"

She looked up at him, tilting her head. "Suppose you tell me."

"Lots of people think it's the screams of the dying, or those in pain. Some think it's the roar of oncoming doom, like an avalanche or _tsunami,_ or the roar of some great beast, or the crash of static preceding being sucked into a black hole or neutron star. They're all wrong.

"The absolute most terrifying sound in all creation is….silence. The nothing you hear, where, just moments before, you were talking to a friend. Now, absolute silence. No sound at all. And the _not knowing_ what's happened to them. The sound that means something—somebody-was taken from you. The sound of being suddenly, abruptly _alone._" He straightened up. "That won't happen, not if I can help it. And I can." And with that, he made his way back down the hallway, towards the rec area. She closed her door, shaking her head at the sheer _strangeness_ of the whole situation.

"And then, and only then," muttered the giant, under his breath, as he walked down the hall, "when he's back, and everything's alright between you two once more, _then_ I'll kick his ass."

….

_Far, far out in space:_

_There was a flaw, a crack in the normally seamless barrier. This crack widened somewhat. A routine interplanetary probe fell into it….and was instantly consumed._

_That which consumed it found it most interesting, indeed._

_To be continued…._


	3. Chapter 3: Searchings

The Gold Corps: Damel-Zahn, Chapter 3: Searchings

"I…understand your reasoning, er, Doomsday," J'onn was saying. "As you say, the troubles you mentioned as occurring in your time could easily have some bearing on the disappearance of the Gold Lantern. But the magnitude of the cataclysm you've described easily surpasses anything any power ring could ever do."

"Any _known_ power ring. By all accounts, the exact nature of the ring worn by Ragnar Rok was unknown, even—perhaps especially—by those whose responsibility it was—excuse me, _is_—to know all there is to know about power rings and power batteries.

"It's that unknown quality that makes me see a link between the two. The ring is unknown; Vastator is unknown. And the whole phenomenon…began right around this area, both in time and space. Close to here. I just don't see how that can possibly be anything but significant." Superman, Wonder Woman, and Hal Jordan had escorted Doomsday back to the Watchtower for the latter to make his request to the Justice League for an FTL ship that could take him to his—hoped for—destination.

J'onn mulled it over, his own keen intellect correlating Doomsday's telling points. The creature did have a point. "Well, even so, what you're asking is…a lot. We aren't, after all, really equipped to hand over an FTL ship…"

"…to a monster. Yeah, I know. I get that a lot. But I totally understand. Still, if you can't help me, I guess I have to go looking elsewhere…"

"That's not to say we can't help you," interjected Hal. "Actually, we can. We just don't have a _ship._" He gestured towards the door of the lift.

It opened, and in walked Kilowog. "Somebody call for a taxi?" he grunted.

…

Earth: Mt. Justice: Megan was just finishing up with her school work—living a double life required one to make some adjustments—but so far, she'd been able to keep up with her assignments, particularly while she was "sick."

But privately, nothing had any meaning for her anymore. She couldn't get enthusiastic about anything. Take this coming Friday. She was supposed to have cheerleading practice then. And right at that moment, that seemed almost laughable. Her? Leading a cheer? _For what?_

Someone signaled for entrance. She was seriously tempted to just ignore it, but didn't. Crossing over to the door, she opened it.

Just outside stood Arisia Rrab, the Green Lantern she'd met while they were both chasing Ragnar. The golden GL looked her up and down. "You," she said, "look like death itself dug up and electrocuted into a rough semblance of life."

_Sniff_. "Nice to see you, too, Arisia. What brings you out this way?"

"Kilowog's escorting Doomsday in his attempts to find your boyfriend. I came by to check up on you. I'm glad I did. M'gann…you don't look so good. I mean, you _really_ don't look so good."

Another sniff. "Yeah, well, I've had better lifetimes, I guess."

Arisia came to a decision. "Look. You're out of school for right now, right? Get dressed. Dinner's on me."

Megan shook her head. "I, I'm not hung-*"

"Wasn't asking." Arisia had stepped into the room. "Either you get dressed or I'll dress you. And I warn you: my taste in clothes may not be yours."

Shortly, the two found themselves at L'Italiane, both dressed in their normal superhero attire. Arisia attacked a Caesar salad while Megan picked absently at a roll. Arisia watched her with concern. "Look, Megan. You've got to snap out of this. You're tearing yourself up."

"Easy for you to say."

"'S'yeah, like I haven't had my share of heartaches. I still remember when Hal and I broke up; I really and truly believed I couldn't love anyone any stronger. And at the same time, I also hated his guts. Sound familiar?"

Megan buttered the half a roll she was holding, watching the butter melt into it. From the look on her face, she clearly had no intention of eating it. Anymore so than she had the three previous ones even then cooling on her plate, the margarine congealing on them, running down the sides.

Truth was, she didn't know what she felt right then. Yes, Ragnar had manipulated her. Against his will, maybe, but he'd still done it. But all things considered, could she really blame him for doing so, especially since they had all been running out of options?

And was she anyone to judge? She'd tried to manipulate others, psionically. And for far less reason.

But reason doesn't have much to do with feelings, she was coming to understand. Doomsday's departing words hung in her mind: _if he were to appear, right here, what would you do?_

_Would you forgive him?_

She didn't know the answer to that question. That was the hard part.

"Uhm, Megan? I know I'm a stranger here on Earth, but aren't you supposed to, like, _eat_ those at some point?"

Sigh. "I don't have any appetite."

Arisia leaned forward. "Megan…don't do this to yourself. I know, I know we all have low points in our lives, but….you gotta get past this. Do you really think Ragnar would want you to, to abuse yourself like this?" And she nodded towards the uneaten rolls.

No response.

Arisia made a snap decision. This wasn't working, so….she leaned back in her chair and crossed one leg over the other. "So…you're absolutely convinced it's over with. Is that it? Kaput? No more M'Gann heart Ragnar? End of story?"

"I, I don't see how there could be anything more…I mean, we both…"

"Okay, just checking. Just wanted to make sure." Something in the way the golden GL said that made Miss Martian's ears perk up. "Just wanted to make sure of what?"

"That all that between you two was over with. That…somebody…wouldn't be, y'know, _poaching_ or anything. That _is _the word, isn't it? After all," and here, she smiled a slightly naughty smile, "you have to admit, he _is_ kinda cute."

Wait. What? "What are you talking about?"

"Right now, Kilowog and the closest thing anybody's ever seen to an unstoppable force are out there trying to find him. I really don't have any doubt but that find him they will, sooner or later. So I'll just head out there and join 'em. Three heads are better than two…we can cover more area that way. We need to find him, anyway, just to get that other Doomsday's body. And I'm sure, once we _do_ find him, the Guardians are gonna want him back on Oa for more tests, and to see to the disposition of the Doomsday body. He wasn't there long enough last time to really see the place. He could probably use a good tour guide. You know. Somebody to show him around. A place to stay, even. And, uhm….well, he _is_ unattached. Could be fun."

Megan couldn't believe her ears. "_What_? What are you saying? That _you're_ gonna….?" With the speed of a bucket of ice water upended over her head, Megan was suddenly, acutely conscious of every superficial imperfection, every stray strand of hair, every freckle, she possessed. Arisia was just so damn _perfect…_

The perfect GL shrugged her perfect shoulders, her perfect face perfectly neutral. "No point in letting him go to waste. I mean, why not?"

"But…but….I thought you and, and Sodam Yat…."

"Well, yes, but we don't _own_ each other." She pretended to examine her fingernails. "There's…leeway for some…variety, I guess you'd say…in our lives. So long as everybody _understands,_ you know what I mean?"

_Crack! _Megan's hand snapped off a piece of the table she was gripping. She rose from her seat, visibly shaking with rage. "You…absolute…WHORE!"

…

"Okay, M'gann," began Nightwing, back at Mt. Justice. "I need more by way of an explanation than just crossed arms and a silent look out the window. I mean, this is the first time I've ever had to post bond for a team member. Now, c'mon. I thought you two were having lunch?"

Megan was still silent. Then, still gazing out the window,"It's…it was really nothing, Nightwing. Just…a misunderstanding, that was all."

"A 'misunderstanding' that almost leveled a city block! The manager's talking about having to send the waitstaff through PTSD counseling! And get a look at this bill for damages! Tables. Chairs. Salad bar. Main bar. Fish tanks. Structural damage to the walls and ceiling. Mirrors. Light fixtures. Plumbing…how the hell did you two manage to tear up the sewage system? On second thought, don't answer that last part, I don't think I really wanna know. Electrical and gas lines…" He shook his head in disbelief. "I don't think we'll be very welcome, back there, for a long, long while. Now come on. I need a report, if nothing else."

….

Out close to the fringes of the galaxy: "Wait, hold it. Stop." Doomsday was feeling around in empty space, as though it were a solid object he could sense.

"What is it?" Kilowog flashed his ring around, but couldn't detect any reason for the monster to have picked this part of the empty vacuum…

"There was something here….in this general vicinity…maybe a little bit of it's still here." The gray fingers probed the nothingness around them. Kilowog's ring provided them with atmosphere, mostly for Kilowog's sake, but also as a way of enabling conversation between the two. In space, no one can hear you speak…unless you make arrangements.

He wondered what the monster could be sensing. Nobody, not even Doomsday himself, was totally and completely sure what sort of senses he possessed. "There's something here. Or there was. Oh, not right _here_ here; but somewhere within a few tens of lightyears. It seems like I'm sensing energies from a collapsing wormhole. Can that ring of yours check for, like, closed wormholes?"

"A little." Kilowog narrowed the focus of his ring, modulating the beam, increasing the frequency into the far X-ray range….

There _had_ been something here. Wormholes in space opened and closed all the time, but most of them operated on a subatomic scale. For the traces of one to linger for longer than a few nanoseconds indicated it had to have been a pretty big one. Kilowog switched his ring sensors, testing for negative energy, usually a hallmark of deliberately-created wormholes. Of course, he had to increase what humans would term the gain of his ring enormously, since they were in deep space, with possible light-years between them and wherever the hole might have been. In fact, they almost certainly were. "I'm sensing some dispersing elements. Very faint, however. Can't tell where it leads, though. Wormholes can lead anywhere."

"This one doesn't. This one leads…nowhere."

"What? How do you know?"

"Call it instinct. I have a hunch…" He fell silent for a moment. "If Ragnar came this way, and, and used his ring to open a wormhole, but there was already one here, or in the process of formation, the results would be…unpredictable. The thing could've led anywhere. He might've intended to only go so far, but…a wormhole _within_ a wormhole…has that ever been done?" Another pause. "Does anybody have any probes out this way? Especially any they've recently lost contact with?"

….

_Okay,_ thought Megan, _I_ _guess I've had worse days._ Although right then she couldn't recall any.

It had been a battle royal at L'Italiane, earlier, with Arisia. But she was intelligent enough to see what the golden GL had been trying to do.

She couldn't go on feeling sorry for herself like this. This just wasn't any way to live. So she had to do something about it. Something, anything. Just doing nothing, moping around like this, was only making matters worse. It also hadn't been lost on her that Arisia might very well be only _half_ kidding.

She took a shower, washing off very thoroughly, at the same time, utilizing Martian meditation techniques, focusing on letting her old feelings go, right down the drain, swirling out of sight.

Completely unbidden, the words from a song she'd recently heard played through her mind…

"…_.Where do you go when you're lonely?_

_Where do you go when you're blue?_

_Where do you go when you're lonely?_

_I'll follow you…when the stars go blue…"_

Okay, _that_ sure as hell wasn't helping anything.

These feelings of self-pity, of despair, and, yes, of anger…all that had to go. It wasn't doing any good to just mope around like this. She had to _do_ something. But what?

Doomsday's words: _What if he were to appear before you, right now?_

_Would you forgive him?_

How could she _not?_

The water coursing over her bare skin seemed to whisper her name: _Meganmorse, meganmorse,meganmorse…_

She stepped out of the shower, toweling off, an Earth custom she'd learned early on. On Mars, water was so scarce that one didn't waste it by soaking it off with a towel; rather, one simply "drank" the water in, absorbed it, through one's pores. Not a single drop was wasted. But she'd done this for so long, it was second nature to her now.

She wrapped the towel around her, wrapping her hair in a second towel, already firming up in her mind what she was going to do. There was really no choice. She'd join Kilowog, Doomsday, and that golden (_tramp_) GL Arisia in finding Ragnar. Then, well, they'd see. He'd already said he was sorry for manipulating her the way he had, and she really felt he was sincere in doing so. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she realized how much it must have hurt him to do what he did. Being a hero was more complicated than just catching bad guys robbing banks, as some people thought. Sometimes it called for more _personal_ sacrifices. And sacrifices don't always come, clearly labeled, in black and white.

So he'd gambled. He'd gambled that the psychic backlash effect implanted within his genetic code would work, as it was supposed to. But in order for it to work, the monster had to be exposed to some form of telepathic power. Probably, if he'd had time, maybe he could've acquired the assistance of her uncle, or some other more experienced telepath, into providing the initial telepathic assault. Or at least taken her into his confidence. But everything just seemed to happen all at once…

But it still hurt that he'd _manipulated_ her. Okay, so she was maybe due an apology for that. Fine. And…maybe he was due one for…certain behavior, certain actions, certain words on her part. Then, once all that was over and done with, maybe they could start thinking about…things. The future.

They probably could never go back to being exactly the way they were, but did she really want to? Their past relationship had been based on a lot of unsaid words and unexpressed feelings. Moving forward….maybe it was time for that. Maintaining the status quo wasn't getting them anywhere.

She remembered how he'd tensed when he had thought, once, that she might have been referring to some sort of "reproductive procedure," and colored, slightly, even as she laughed. She guessed she could understand that. Here, he'd gone from being the only intelligent form of life in the universe that he knew of, to being a member of a group, and on his way to being one half of a couple. _Of course_, he was a virgin. He had to be. She almost chuckled at how that must have _frightened_ him. What would he have done if she'd said yes? He might've actually fainted on her.

Well, the only way anything would ever get done, one way or another, was to go get him and bring him back here, where he belonged. And she _definitely_ didn't trust Arisia around him, no, not _that_ one. She found the very thought of such a thing repulsive, somehow. Like, like some kind of violation of innocence.

Ragnar was _hers,_ simply put, no matter how you looked at it. And, and maybe it was time to put aside this whole blushing schoolgirl thing. After all, she _was_ a young adult, as was he.

She smiled, still toweling off. Maybe…maybe that first time…for them both…would be…so very good…

So she briskly toweled off, wrapping herself in the towel, and stepped over to the full-length mirror on the bathroom door, to check her appearance, the way people normally do, just an automatic response to pretty much any reflective surface.

And did a fast double take, because she had no reflection in the mirror.

_To be continued…._


	4. Chapter 4: Disappearances

The Gold Corps: Damel-Zahn, Chapter 4: Disappearances

Conference room, Mt. Justice: Nightwing had just completed another "report of nothing to report," as he'd taken to calling them, to J'onn J'onzz up in the Watchtower. "Have you heard anything from the GL's, sir?"

"_None. Kilowog reported in an hour ago, to say they'd not picked up any sort of trail. He expressed some concern that they might not be on the right path."_

"Considering how huge an area they have to cover, that's not surprising. Is Doomsday sensing anything?" It still felt funny, using the name of the scourge of worlds in that context.

"_Nothing of any significance. Space, of course, is vast. But Doomsday's convinced that they're on the right track, though he can't say why. A feeling, he says. How anyone can have a 'feeling' in empty space has not been made clear, at least, not to me. But they are looking." _He paused. Then,_ "How is my niece?"_

Dick grimaced. "Oh, she's doing okay. I suppose you heard about the, uhm, recent incident."

"_Unfortunately, there doesn't appear to be anyone in the western hemisphere who __hasn't__. I have, of course, always known M'gann had a temper, but I had not suspected she had one to this degree. I trust the matter is resolved?"_ Meaning the damages, charges, and other sundry problems.

"Yes, sir. Though it took some doing." Dick grinned suddenly. "But, off the record, I have to confess that I would have given a lot to have been a fly on the wall during that, er, conversation."

"_If I understand correctly, most of the walls suffered such severe damage as to render the survival of any _musca domestica_ highly uncertain. Perhaps it is just as well." _Nightwing could _almost_ swear he saw the faintest glimmer of a humorous light in the Martian's eyes. Then it was gone again. _"Where is she now?"_

"In her room. The fight did seem to break her out of her funk, and I believe she'll be okay."

"_Which was no doubt the way Lantern Arisia intended it. Very well._"

"I'm about to call a meeting in a moment, sir. Would you like to speak with her, yourself?"

"_Yes, that would be a good idea. I'll hold on."_

…..

Miss Martian fought down a rising tide of panic. _Okay, Megan,_ she said to herself, _this is no big thing. It's just…you turned invisible accidently and forgot to become visible again. Nothing to worry about._ And she closed her eyes, willing herself opaque. Cautiously, ever so cautiously, she opened her eyes.

Nothing in the mirror save for the normal contents of the bathroom. She went up to the mirror, and placed her hand, edge-on, against its cold surface. Still no reflection of herself. _Have I gotten stuck in 'invisible' mode? One way to find out._

She took the towel wrapped around herself, held it out at arm's length—and let it drop onto the floor, presumably outside of her "invisibility" field.

Nothing. No sign of the towel, now on the floor, and no sign of her now towel-less body. _So the mirror's…broken? But how can that be?_

She stepped out into the room proper, gathering up her harness. The harness was really the only piece of actual clothing, as humans understood it, that she wore: it, like most Martian garments, was composed of a psychoreactive material that molded itself to her thoughts, and meshed seamlessly with her own shape-shifting powers. Wearing it, she could easily _will_ it to become something else, to take on another form, and to remain that way, and it did. Uncle J'onn's harness worked on the same principle. It made for a garment that could be customized with a thought, literally. Putting it on, she headed for the door. Something was wrong here, and she needed to seek the advice of others….

Her hand ghosted through the door handle. She knew a moment of panic, then willed herself to be more solid. This time, she was able to open the door…

She wandered down to the main hall, the rec room, as they called it. Surely, somebody would be there, and she could contact Uncle J'onn, to ask him why she'd suddenly lost her reflection. This was a crazy thing to happen to a girl.

There was nobody in the rec room. She checked her time; nearly 11:30 AM. And even though it was a Saturday, there should still be somebody on duty here at Mt. Justice. Nightwing, especially, should have been here.

But there was nobody. Straining her Martian senses, she could not pick up on any voices or heartbeats; scanning with her Martian senses revealed….

….that there was nobody else there in the entire complex. She looked farther afield: Happy Harbor appeared to be completely deserted. _How can this be?_ It was like something out of an old "Twilight Zone" episode.

Megan could feel the fear rising in her, the fear of the unknown. _Okay, there's bound to be a logical explanation for all this. Maybe I'm still asleep. Yeah, that's gotta be it. I must still be asleep…_

"Miss Megan?" Megan whirled around at the _clearly spoken_ words. Standing in the middle of the Team's main rec area was…

"_Sarah!_ Sarah, what's going on here?" Sarah Marshall, or, rather, the entity calling itself that, had been instrumental in Ragnar's ring changing the way it did, and in showing him how to recharge it. Whatever she (it?) was, she (?) was definitely _not_ a little eight-year old girl. But that was the avatar she seemed to insist upon using. "Sarah. What's going on? Why is it I can't see myself in the mirror? And, and where is everybody?"

Sarah looked Megan straight in the eyes. Megan could tell, her sense of dread increasing, that something was clearly and extremely wrong. The being in front of her seemed glassy-eyed, almost as though she was fighting to stay awake. "You've gotta find him, Miss Megan. You've got to go get him. He's got to go to the wall. If he doesn't…" She stretched out her hands, as though pleading for some response. With a shock, Megan noticed blood on the child-sized hands; it dripped down onto the flooring. There were no visible cuts or wounds, but the blood kept coming, flowing, dripping down onto the ground. "It's up to you both, Miss Megan. Save us, Miss Megan. Save us all…"

…

Nightwing had summoned a meeting of all available Team members. It being a weekend, almost everyone was able to attend, the exceptions being those few who had weekend extracurricular activities.

Say, where was Megan, anyway? He'd sent out the signal. "Artemis? Would you mind checking on Megan? She should be here by now." Artemis nodded, and disappeared down the hallway. Nightwing turned to J'onn's image, hanging there in mid-air. "Sorry about this, sir. Maybe she didn't hear the signal."

But Artemis returned, shaking her head. "She doesn't answer her door. That's not like her."

"It sure isn't." Nightwing dug out his communicator, pulling up the "tracking" feature. Surely, she'd just stepped out… "Hm. It says it—the communicator, at least—is still in her room, but that doesn't necessarily mean she is. Computer? Scan for whereabouts of Team member Miss Martian."

The computer's automated voice spoke up instantly. _"Subject is not on the premises."_

"Can you track her bio-signature?"

"_Negative. Subject is not within range."_

"Did she leave?"

"_Negative. Subject's last known coordinates indicate her as being in her room."_

Nightwing rubbed his chin. "But where could she have gone?"

"_I do not have that information."_

It quickly developed that the last anyone had seen of Miss Martian had been her heading towards her room. "Her bioship's here? Well, surely she wouldn't have gone very far without that…and nobody has any idea where she could've gone?" His alarm was increasing.

"_Nightwing?"_ J'onn's voice came over the still active commlink, "_I am scanning for her, both with the instruments here and my own telepathic power. I cannot seem to locate her. Perhaps it would be helpful to examine the security camera logs for the past hour or so?"_ Even though normally calm and controlled, the Martian Manhunter couldn't keep a certain amount of anxiety out of his voice.

"Yessir. Khaldur? You mind going over those?" His own alarm was rising; Megan had _never_ just up and vanished like this, before.

….

"This…this has gotta be a dream. I mean, you're a cosmic entity, Sarah, or whatever your name really is. You've got to be. And, and I can't sense any of the others…"

"Reality is a dream," said what appeared to be a child. She looked as though she was sleepwalking. "But dreams can become nightmares so easily. And everything that Sleeps must someday awake." She seemed to rally, and her eyes focused on Megan. "You two have to go to the wall. It's the only way. You have to go. Otherwise, everything…" She trailed off, becoming more glassy-eyed, evidently losing her train of thought, actually swaying, the blood still dripping off her hands onto the floor.

"The wall? You mean, the Source Wall?"

"Out beyond… Promethean galaxy. Past the boundary of All Things. …must pass through. Stop…" And here, the image of Sarah Marshall seemed to waver, like a TV picture with poor reception. It lost and regained focus, lost and regained it again, all in a matter of seconds, her voice fading to a indecipherable whisper. "Only…only one…" And the image faded out altogether.

"Sarah! _Sarah!_ Tell me! What are we supposed to _do_?" But she found herself talking to an empty space…

…

_Lightyears away, on the unnamed planet that had been Ragnar's home for fifteen years, some very strange things were going on inside what remained of his crashed starship._

_Circuits began to heal, breaks, repairing themselves, fractures in the structure mending rapidly, like a time-lapse video. Individual components were rebuilt, restructured from a vast, hitherto unsuspected supply of "spare parts," about which, even Ragnar had never known. There had been no need for him to know, and the information had not been volunteered._

_And a signal was sent out, across the galaxy, to a dead world orbiting a dying sun. Upon this world, the remains of many thousands upon thousands of years of accumulated debris, from starships that had strayed too close to the worldlet, and that had been caught by the trap that was the entire system, began to stir…._

_They were needed. After millennia, they were needed._

…..

Miss Martian was beginning to wonder if it wasn't time to panic. Looking at it objectively, this seemed like it might be a pretty good time.

For some reason, she still couldn't see herself in any reflective surface, and she kept having to maintain conscious, deliberate control over her density, otherwise, she found her fingers tended to just slip past objects. _Am I dead? Is that it? I'm a ghost?_ But no, she really didn't think that was the case. But what was happening here?

Somehow, someway, she'd been drawn into some…universe, dimension, whatever one wanted to call it, and, and…what? Gotten _stuck?_

She could only guess that "Sarah Marshall," whoever, whatever she was, had somehow drawn her here for some reason. But now…Sarah, whoever, whatever she was, seemed to be…offline? Out of commission? Whatever one wished to call it, she didn't seem able to help her re-enter the normal world.

Wait. Maybe her bioship's transdimensional drive held the key. She practically ran into the hanger bay, hoping against hope that she could operate the controls…

Her bioship responded to her mental commands, good, good. But now what? She knew better than to activate the translight drive while actually on the surface of a planet. Best to take it upstairs…

Conference room: the computer chimed in alarm as the hanger bay doors were opened. "Computer! What's going on?"

"_Analysis: bioship is taking off."_

"Who's on it?"

"_Analysis: cannot detect any life forms on the bioship."_

"There's nobody driving? It's just taking off, all by itself?"

"_Affirmative."_

"Superboy! Get down there and see what's going on!" Nightwing turned to J'onn's image on the screen. "Sir, it seems like your niece's ship is….running off without her. Is that possible?"

"_Normally, no. Bioships are linked to certain individuals for security purposes. It is not possible to 'hotwire' one, as you would say. But neither do they simply undertake a course of action completely on their own. There must be some reason."_

Superboy reached the hanger bay, only to see the ship glide soundlessly into the sky. He gave a mighty leap, aiming for one wing of it….

…and was rewarded with a quick view of a completely empty cockpit. Then the ship ghosted out from underneath him, and down he went.

…

Miss Martian sat in the command chair of her bioship, suppressing a shudder. Strain her senses as she might, she could detect no other living thing anywhere on Earth. A quick scan of the Watchtower showed it to be completely unoccupied. How could that be? Even assuming she was in some alternate or whatever dimension, how could there be _nobody here?_ Especially with cities, houses, buildings…but all completely empty?

_Any technology, sufficiently advanced, is indistinguishable from magic._ But Megan had a hunch this went far beyond either technology or magic. This was like something out of _The Langoliers._

Up, up, beyond the stratosphere. She had to be well out of the Earth's atmosphere to activate the translight drive.

But once she did, what would happen?

…

"There was _nobody_ on board?"

"Nobody I could see. I mean, I guess Megan _could've_ been invisible, but…"

"_I don't believe that to be the case,"_ spoke up J'onn's image. _"I was monitoring the ship's egress with every available sensor as well as my own telepathy. There was no-one on board. No one detectable, that is." _He paused, worry evident on his face. _"I confess I have no explanation for—*"_

There was a brilliant flare of light. The others shielded their eyes momentarily. When they recovered, Sarah was standing among them. "You are needed. All of you," said the being.

_To be continued…_


	5. Chapter 5: Appearances

The Gold Corps: Damel-Zahn, Chapter 5: Appearances

Miss Martian had made it to the outer Van Allen radiation belts. She really should wait to be well beyond them to activate the drive, but, driven by a certain sense of desperation, gave the command anyway.

Reality skewed, as space/time warped around her…

….

"Sarah?" Although Nightwing had never actually met the being calling itself Sarah Marshall, he'd read the reports. This could only be the being both Ragnar and Miss Martian had encountered. Besides. Most eight-year olds don't make a habit of suddenly appearing in the midst of a covert team's operating base in a flare of light.

What looked like a little girl tilted her head back, looking up at the ceiling. Onboard the Watchtower, J'onn recorded it all, wondering if it would even show up later. Cosmic entities had a way of being invisible to even the most advanced technology. "You are needed. All of you. You must come. Now." And she closed her eyes in concentration; the Team members could feel the forces building up.

"Wait, Sarah, what are you talking about—*"

"There is no time. There will soon be no time. Before that, there will be all time. I cannot hold out much longer." A golden flare of light erupted from her, spreading out to the Team members, engulfing them all…

When the flare had died, the room was empty. _Interesting,_ thought J'onn J'onnz.

….

"So…what you wanna do is try to reconstruct this wormhole-within-a-wormhole, just to see where it goes?"

"In a nutshell, yeah. I'm not askin' you to go with me, unnerstand, but _I_ gotta go. I think this is the way he went." The monster was looking distractedly out across the vastness of space. In the far, far distance, the Andromeda galaxy glimmered, faintly. Why did that seem important to him?

"Screw that. I'm in this, too. Well, let's see….first, I gotta recreate the circumstances for the formation of the first wormhole." He busied himself, creating solid-light constructs. "Lessee….takes a certain amount of negative energy….hope my ring's got enough charge for it." He detached the light constructs from his ring, letting them operate on their own, for the moment. They powered up, producing the effects hopefully identical to the original naturally occurring wormhole…

Now, he began to open a wormhole the standard way, using his ring's energies directly on space/time. Doomsday watched, the scientist in him fascinated.

Neither of them saw the golden flare appear behind them until it had swallowed them up.

…..

Something was wrong. Miss Martian was an experienced enough pilot to know that, but she didn't know just what.

She felt like she was being contorted, on an atomic level, as the bioship's warp drive twisted the local geometry. That shouldn't be.

….

The Team members, Doomsday, and Kilowog materialized in perhaps the strangest place they'd ever encountered: an immense wall, hanging in outer space, formed mostly, it seemed, from what appeared to be giant statues. But three things immediately held their attention: one, the being known as "Sarah Marshall" was directly in front of them, glowing as brightly as a star. They shielded their eyes against her brilliance, even while noting the entity's back was turned to them, facing the wall. Two, Ragnar was closer to the wall, evidently pouring energy from his ring into the structure. And three, most important of all, there were titan _cracks_ appearing in the wall, with shafts of brilliance lancing through from the other side.

The Source Wall was breaking apart. Something was breaking through _from the other side._

…

Nightwing recovered first. He didn't question how it was they were able to breathe in deep space; if Sarah had brought them here, she no doubt had arranged for them to be able to survive, here in the airlessness of space. There would have been no point, otherwise.

Moving around was another matter.

"Sarah!" He called out to her. "What's going on?" He didn't bother to ask where they were; _that_ was self-evident.

Sarah didn't appear to hear, but Ragnar did, and flew over to them, noting, as they were coming to, that Megan was not among them. "Nightwing! The Source Wall—something is trying to break through from the other side!" He looked around. "Where's Me—I mean, Miss Martian?"

Richard put a hand on Ragnar's sleeve, partly to steady himself, and partly to reassure himself that the Gold Lantern was really there. It seemed like reality itself was….somehow not real. Not as real as it should be, at least. "She's missing, Ragnar. She—*"

"She's _missing?"_ Ragnar's face took on a horrified look. "Then I have to find her!"

"_Yes. You must,"_ said the glowing figure just then floating up to them. She didn't really look like a little eight-year old girl anymore; now, all human frailties and imperfections were burned away in the awesome radiance she was producing. Again, Nightwing noted the distracted air about the creature calling itself Sarah Marshall. _"I cannot maintain this much longer. You must find…."_ She paused, pupils (barely visible in the mighty glare she was producing) dilating, _"You must go. You must go back. All of you. Find…." _Branches of sheer golden radiance sprang out from her, enveloping all the assembled group, with the exception of Kilowog. _"Find…."_

"Find _what_, Sarah?"

"_Damel-zahn…"_

….

Nightwing and Kid Flash found themselves on a dusty plain. A quick look around; there was nothing to indicate where they might be. "Wally, I need some recon. This looks like Earth; see if you can tell us where we are." A glance at the overhead sun gave him the impression of a Mediterranean locale.

"On it, N!" Off he raced.

Dick noted sounds of violence in the distance; he could hear screams and clanging sounds: metal on metal.

Wally came racing back. "Dick! There's this whole village being attacked by a bunch of characters straight out of history books! I thought they were re-enactors, but they're really killing people!"

The two raced towards the conflict….

….

Ragnar, Superboy, and Artemis found themselves in the middle of a pitched battle. Or rather, a pitched massacre; the armored and sword-and axe-wielding troops were moving swiftly through a largely unarmed and thoroughly terrified mob of men, women, and children, killing anyone who got in their way.

Artemis gasped. "I recognize these guys! Those, those in the armor…they're northern Germanic tribes, and these people are ancient Romans! Guys, this must be sometime around one of the invasions that led to the Fall of Rome!"

"We can't just sit here and let them murder innocent people!" bellowed Superboy, flinging himself into the fray even as he spoke.

"Wait!_ Conner!_" But her words fell on deaf ears.

"He's right," concurred Ragnar, "I don't know very much about your Earth history, but this is the very thing we're supposed to fight, isn't it? I mean, most of these people aren't even armed! Besides, if Megan is here…I will find her. And if she's been harmed…" And here, his blue face hardened, as he dove into battle, right behind Superboy.

Artemis took a ranging approach, noting the direction the attackers were coming from. She touched her communicator. "Guys. Direct your efforts to the mass of soldiers coming from the northeast. I'm gonna lay down a smokescreen. If you can bottleneck the troops…." She nocked and fired three smoke arrows. She'd have to be careful here, not to run out of her arrows; while there were arrows aplenty here, they were all of the lethal variety, and Artemis preferred her own, non-lethal ones.

Superboy was in his element. Screw the grandfather paradox; these guys had it coming. Ragnar flew overhead, using his ring to disarm and dismantle the armor of the attacking troops. He became the target of both spears and arrows. These he easily deflected.

Then the first thunderbolt hit him.

…..

Cassie Sandsmark—Wonder Girl—materialized, along with Batgirl on a grassy hillside. The climate was only slightly cooler than the one they'd left, but storm clouds on the horizon bespoke of the promise of rain. Even as she thought that, Cassie saw a flash of lightning zig-zag from the cloud.

The rain-scented breeze from the oncoming storm was actually rather refreshing. "So…where do you suppose the others are?" she asked Batgirl.

Barbara Gordon took her time answering, first pulling out her communicator. No bars; either they were on an Earth without cell phones, or they were at a time without cells. "No telling. But look. There's a village, right down there. That's where we need to start." _Plus, seeing the place up close will give me some idea as to the technological and cultural development, and maybe a ball-park figure as to the time. Assuming, of course, that this is even Earth to begin with._ But privately, she thought it was.

The natives, dark-skinned and dark-haired, watched in fascination, and not a little fear, as the two heroes made their way into the middle of the "town," which seemed to consist more of mud and thatch huts than anything else. Mothers clutched their children close as Wonder Girl and Batgirl walked by. "Uhm. Anybody speak this language?"

…..

Doomsday materialized in the center of a city reminiscent of ancient Greece. Sturdily built white stone houses and buildings, surrounded by less sturdy painted wooden and stucco'd ones, all centered around a large open-air temple, which was supported by exquisitely carved columns of a type he didn't recognize. At the instant of his appearance, the crowd around him stopped and stared; some drew back in fear, eyes wide….

But others seemed to find him not all that odd. They kept their eyes on him, to be sure, but in many cases, simply went about their business, whatever it may be. But he did find himself in a growing circle of emptiness, with most people preferring to remain at a little over arms' length away. _Well, I guess I can understand that._

A man wearing armor approached him, speaking words, sentences, all of which seemed to end in question marks. Doomsday just shrugged. He could guess what they were asking him, but, even if he could speak the language, he didn't have any answers to give. _Who are you? Where did you come from? What are you doing here?_ He had questions, too.

After a few minutes of non-communication, the official seemed to realize that the monster either didn't have any answers to give or couldn't understand, and so moved off, warily, keeping his eyes on Doomsday. As long as the gray giant didn't start any trouble… All told, thought Doomsday, actually a rather laid-back approach. Maybe this was the ancient world equivalent of Los Angeles, or San Fran.

But none of that told him where he was, or when he was, or where the others were.

….

Kid Flash was busy disarming the marauding troops. They couldn't even see him coming, let alone mount any sort of defense. With each pass he made through the enemy lines, the soldiers found themselves possessing less and less by way of weapons and armor. The first pass and their weapons disappeared. The second saw their armor vanish. One second they were armed and armored, the next, weaponless and practically naked.

Nightwing hadn't been idle. He'd identified the leaders, and targeted them with a couple of well-placed stun disks. It's hard to lead an invasion when your head's ringing and you can't see straight.

But still he hadn't found the one he was really looking for….wait. There: a heavily armored man surrounded by heavily armored guards. He stopped in front of them, in a defensive posture. Raised his hand and pointed at the leader. Beckoned.

The leader looked like he was about to have a stroke. How dare this one insolent _boy_ thwart his plans? And, even though he couldn't understand a word the dark-garbed fighter said, his attitude was unmistakable: _You and me. Come on._

With a sneer, the leader shoved aside his honor guard. He wouldn't need them for this one lone infidel. Why, he wasn't even armed!

Arrogantly, he advanced, drawing his sword. Strangely, his opponent didn't even seem concerned; surely this was some new level of insult. This lone fighter was actually challenging _him,_ the King of Persia, the Scourge of Nations, a god made flesh?

He slashed with his sword, his own experience keeping him from putting his full weight into the blow. The sword's blade was heavy enough to do sufficient damage without that. But his opponent dodged, faster than the Persian king had ever seen anyone move, half-turned, and delivered a backward kick, using the king's own motion against him. Angered, the Persian recovered, slashing a backward slash with his sword.

But his opponent wasn't there. Instead, the king received a stunning blow to the face, even as the dark clad warrior twisted the sword out of his hand. Now, Nightwing delivered another kick, this one breaking the king's right knee. With an inarticulate yell, partly of pain, partly of rage, the king swung a left-roundhouse blow….

….only to have his left arm caught and twisted behind him in a most painful manner. A slight twist, and he heard the sickening sound of the bone breaking.

The Scourge of Nations fell heavily to the ground, nearly losing consciousness due to the pain. His opponent stood over him, holding the king's own sword at his throat. He wasn't even breathing hard.

The tip of the razor-sharp sword was against the king's throat, the dark warrior standing over him. Why didn't he just go ahead and kill him? Did he truly regard him as such a little threat? He must.

Nightwing flicked his chin at the king's guard. _Come get him._ He moved back as they did so. Kid Flash stood in the background, partly in reserve should matters go south, but also in awe. He'd never seen Nightwing fight like that before. Hell, he'd never seen _anyone_ fight like that before….

But then, he guessed, Nightwing _had_ been personally trained by the greatest martial artist the world had ever known. All of a sudden he felt sort of superfluous.

The guard took their king back behind the lines. Nightwing stood tall, still holding the captured sword, pointing with it to a spot on the ground a few yards in front of him, in an unmistakable gesture. None of the others seemed inclined to take up where their king had left off. There would be no point. Everyone knew that Achilles (for so the dark garbed one must be, to fight as he had with no armor or weapons) was beyond harm by men. And with swift Hermes by his side… Men simply could not fight gods; everyone knew that. And only gods could do what had just been done.

The invaders withdrew. They would come again, but for now, only fools fought on against legends.

"Well," said Nightwing, tossing the sword aside,"At least we bought these people some time. I hope it's enough."

"So….we're in the past?"

"It would seem so."

"What about time paradoxes?"

Shrug. "Guess we'll find out."

Even as he spoke, the golden flare came up behind them, catching them and propelling them into the time stream.

_To be continued…_


	6. Chapter 6: Differences

The Gold Corps: Damel-Zahn, Chapter 6: Differences

_Present day: Source Wall:_ "But where did you send them? And, and why didn't you send me, too?" Kilowog asked.

The humanoid star in front of him spoke: _"I've another task for you, Kilowog of the Green Lanterns. You must tell the Guardians that All is in jeopardy. Plans must be made…in case they fail._

"_Otherwise, your universe, all universes, will cease to be."_

…

The thunderbolt took Ragnar completely by surprise. He wasn't grounded, and his ring shielded him from such attacks, so he was barely stunned. He followed the ionization trail back to a figure apparently floating in mid-air, surrounded by a cloud of negative ions. The figure shouted something that his ring didn't bother to translate. _Hm,_ thought Ragnar. Was this one of the humans' gods or some mutation? Not that it mattered….

The figure cast more thunderbolts groundward, targeting Superboy and Artemis. Ragnar blocked the bolts, and rose to meet this new challenge.

It was, in appearance, a bearded human male, age indeterminate, clad in some sort of heavy garments made of animal skin, and wielding a large hammer apparently made out of some sort of rock. The figure noticed Ragnar approaching, and snarled, even as he sent another bolt towards the Gold Lantern. Ragnar parried the blow, and countered with one of his own.

But the floating, flying figure was not so easily dismissed. The ion cloud around him, which appeared to serve as his means of flight, also managed to blunt the effect of Ragnar's blasts. Again he pointed his hammer at Ragnar, and readied another bolt. The blinding speed of the bolts, and the titanic flares of light and concussive sound waves that accompanied them, were disorienting to Ragnar, pushing him groundward, and endangering his colleagues with the fallout. _Time,_ he thought, _time is the key._

With a thought, he caused time around him to speed up. Now, surrounded in a bubble of accelerated time, he could see his adversary as though he were moving in slow motion, his hammer rising, reaching its apex, preparing to fling another bolt.

_Electrons are discrete bits of energy,_ Ragnar remembered, _carrying a negative charge. They are drawn towards a positive charge._ Yes, he could feel the tingling all over his body as he, the target, was readied to receive the bolt.

Instantly, he reversed the effect, neutralizing the positive field, yet holding it in reserve until just the right moment. His opponent finished building his charge, and flung yet another lightning bolt at the golden garbed ring-wielder.

It's a common misconception that lightning moves at the speed of light. Actually, in Earth's atmosphere, lightning travels at 224,000 miles per hour. In Ragnar's bubble of accelerated time, that was pitifully slow.

In the microsecond the bolt left the hand of his antagonist, Ragnar immediately directed his ring's energy onto the body of the floating man in front of him, stripping away at the negatively-charged electrons in his body, and producing the biggest positive electrical charge within three hundred miles.

The results were exactly as he had hoped. The lightning bolt actually reversed itself and slammed into its former master with the force of a bomb. The flying man was totally unprepared for this attack, catching the full brunt of his own bolt, as the two forces met and neutralized each other. The ensuing blast was enough to rupture unprotected eardrums. Ragnar caught the falling body of his opponent before he could hit the ground.

One the ground: working steadily, Superboy and Artemis had already taken out three battalions, when the light show in the sky nearly blinded them all. When their vision cleared, the enemy troops saw a gleaming golden figure casually descending to the Earth, bearing the body of their defeated god. He deposited the body gently in front of them; they could see their god's chest rise and fall.

The Golden God stood with the Mighty One and the Archer. _"Bring no more harm to these people,"_ he said, his words somehow making sense to them, even if they couldn't understand the language. _"Go now."_

…

"Alright. One problem solved," said Superboy, as the invaders took their god and beat a hasty retreat. Conner's clothes had become ripped in several places; he'd need to replace or repair them soon. _What I'd give for one of those indestructible costumes they always seem to show comic book characters as having. But I guess they'd be sheer hell on wash day. _"Now what?"

Artemis was listening to the crowd, which had gathered just outside the battle zone. "Let's go ask them. Maybe they can tell us something."

One woman bowed low before the trio. Ragnar's ring translated: "Apollo. Hercules. Artemis. Mighty ones. We prayed. You came. You saved us. We are forever in your debt."

The trio looked at each other. "Well," said Superboy, "They at least got _one_ name right."

….

Miss Martian gradually came to and immediately realized something was wrong. For one thing, her bioship's power appeared to be completely out, and the ship itself was canted at a slight angle, as though resting on uneven ground.

Which proved to be exactly the case. She phased out of the ship, looking around.

She'd come down in a green, verdant area of low hills bordered by some modest forests, with some huts far off in the distance. Her senses didn't seem to be working at full capacity, but she could see nothing that told her where she was. Somehow, from the appearance of the huts, and the uncluttered land, she received the distinct impression that she was in Earth's past.

But when? And where? It wasn't completely unknown, of course; in the early days of Martian space exploration, translight drives had been known to malfunction, sending the explorers off into other times. Fortunately, that matter had been overcome long before she came along.

Or had it? There was no telling how her ship's drive field had interacted with whatever influence had been present back at Mt. Justice. She might not even be on Earth.

But she was encouraged to see _actual people_ in the huts in the distance, and so rose up into the air, heading for them. Perhaps she'd get some answers there.

Why did she feel so weak? It seemed like all she could do to stay in the air….

….

_Have to take the bitter with the sweet,_ thought Doomsday, with a grimace. His exploration of this ancient human civilization was beginning to leave a bad taste in his mouth.

A lot of it was clean, neat, orderly. Beautiful, even. But there was a large amount of squalor, too, and he noticed a great deal of the menial labor was being done by gangs of men wearing chains and iron collars.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out _their_ place in this society.

Virtually every culture on Earth, and a great many off it, had engaged in the practice of slavery at one point or another. Society had to reach a certain moral or ethical level, one that was even more important than the level of technological development, before they actually began to feel the incentive, the _need,_ to _build_ their manual labor, rather than simply _enslaving_ it.

_Not my world,_ he thought, wincing even as he saw the whip lash across the backs of the hapless slaves. He recalled his studies, under Bertran, Metron and others: in some cultures, depending upon the historical context, being a slave wasn't necessarily all that bad a deal. Human rights were a largely 20th century phenomena on Earth; before then, even people who weren't slaves often had it pretty bad.

And none of this was helping him get whatever it was he was supposed to get here. He didn't even know, really, what it was he was seeking. He really wished Sarah Marshall had been just a _little_ more informative….

A scream behind him made him turn around. Behind him, a young dark haired girl was running from a man clad in what looked like a very expensive toga. As Doomsday watched, she tripped and fell, and the man was upon her, beating and kicking her mercilessly. Doomsday found himself standing just behind the slavemaster, catching the man's upraised fist even as it was poised for another blow. "Fella, you really need to learn some manners." With a flick of his wrist, he sent the man crashing into a nearby building. Immediately, the armored men began closing on him, drawing their swords. They'd had no problem with the man beating his slave, but now….

Doomsday looked down at the girl, who was watching the giant with widened eyes. He noticed she had several ugly bruises forming on her otherwise pretty face. "G'wan, girl. Nobody's gonna blame you for running away from the big bad monster." He turned to the oncoming men, and cracked his knuckles. "Anyway, I think these guys are gonna be busy for a while." _The hell with this not my world crap._

…_._

The huts Miss Martian had spied proved to a small collection of hamlets, clustered around a common well. The people appeared to be Asian, but she couldn't tell if they were Chinese, Japanese, or what.

She didn't speak Mandarin (for some reason, she felt this had to be ancient China), but counted on her telepathy. But it didn't seem to be working just right.

The villagers came out to see her, not afraid, but merely curious. Of course, they'd never seen a green skinned girl before, but they didn't seem to find her all that frightening.

She reached out with her mind. _{{Hello? Can you hear me? I come in peace.}}_

Several of the natives looked shocked; her words had registered in their minds. They looked at each other, as though for confirmation. She couldn't discern their thoughts with any degree of accuracy, but they mostly seemed to be curious about her. One approached her, speaking an unfamiliar tongue. Megan's telepathy translated it as "Who are you? What do you want here?"

_{{I'm sorry for speaking to you this way, mind-to-mind, but I don't know your language. Can you tell me where I am? And what year it is?}}_

…

Ragnar, Superboy, and Artemis were escorted by an enthusiastic crowd to the middle of town. Clearly, the townsfolk wanted to celebrate, but the three heroes did have other priorities. "Look," explained Artemis, whose Latin was actually quite good, "You need to be making preparations. My friends and I can't stay here forever, and those invaders will come again."

"Please, mighty Artemis, allow us to show our gratitude! All that we have is yours!"

Artemis smiled. "Keep your lives safe. That will be more than enough reward for us. But, if you could tell us a few things, we'd appreciate it."

The woman—Artemis guessed she must be a priestess—replied, "Anything! It is yours for the asking!" Artemis noticed, with some amusement, that several of the young girls in the crowd seemed fascinated with Ragnar and Superboy, crowding in as close as they could, actually trying to _touch_ them. The looks they were giving the two "gods"…she smirked inwardly. It really didn't help that Superboy's outfit had become ripped in the battle. This was the stuff of teenage boys' dreams. Conner was doing his dead-level best to look cool, calm, and collected; of course, this only made them try _harder_.

But Ragnar seemed not to notice the girls, and Artemis could guess why. "Artemis. Do they know anything about Megan? Can you ask them?" He didn't so much as glance at all the cute girls—some of whom, Artemis was certain, were well below legal age, at least in 20th century America—giving him the "doe eyes."

"I'll ask." To the priestess: "We seek one of our own, a green girl. Have you heard or seen anything of her?" She would expand upon the list of the missing, but she figured that green girls shouldn't be too commonplace, and therefore….

The priestess shook her head. "No, Mighty One. We have heard of nothing about any girl who is green." They had made their way to a large open temple, surrounded by exquisitely carved friezes depicting past battles, mighty heroes…

Ragnar tugged on Superboy's sleeve, and nudged Artemis. "Superboy. Artemis. Look." He pointed up at one of the friezes. Superboy followed his pointed finger…and felt his jaw drop in amazement.

Because the stone-carved and obviously old frieze clearly depicted a giant humanoid with what appeared to be bony spikes coming out of his shoulders, elbows, and knees.

….

Wonder Girl and Batgirl weren't having much luck with the natives. They didn't speak any tongue either of the two were familiar with, and, moreover, seemed fearful of even talking to the two heroes.

Batgirl, of course, was used to being somewhat intimidating, but Cassie was not. Why should they be afraid of her? Perhaps they were just fearful of strangers in general. That was entirely possible; the history of mankind is largely that of somebody invading somebody else. She guessed they had every right to be on their guard against two such obvious strangers.

The two noticed the gathering around the largest of the huts at about the same time. Several women were squatted in the mud outside, wailing and throwing dirt and leaves up into the air over themselves. "That," said Batgirl, "looks like trouble. Maybe we'd best go see."

They approached the hut, and the women stopped what they were doing and scrambled away. Several young men carrying spears moved a little closer to the door, albeit nervously, as though hesitant to block the two strangers' path. A voice, the first voice actually speaking they'd heard since arriving, spoke from within, and they drew back.

From within the darkness of the hut emerged a grey headed man in what Batgirl guessed was his forties. In this society, that probably made him a senior citizen. He eyed the two strangers, then gestured for them to come in.

Upon entering, they were immediately assaulted by a horrific, nauseating odor, one Batgirl knew, but Cassie didn't. It was the odor of rotting flesh.

One a low bed of straw lay a young boy. Batgirl guessed his age to be maybe between eight and twelve. He was breathing raggedly, and it was easy to see why: his right leg was swollen up to twice its normal size. The odor of gangrene filled the hut, making them both want to choke.

Automatically, Batgirl went to the boy's side, examining the leg. The older man stood by, evidently not the least afraid of the two. Batgirl glanced at the boy's face, and compared it to the older man's. A son, maybe?

She shook her head. There was no way of telling what originally caused the injury, but given the state of these people's medical care, they'd be burying the boy before long.

She turned to the man. "How long…?" She tried to use hand gestures to communicate, as nobody here spoke any language either she or Cassie was familiar with.

He shook his head, whether in lack of comprehension or for some other reason, she couldn't tell. But then, he placed a hand on his son's shoulder, gestured towards the suffering boy, then to himself, a pleading look on his face. He then fell to his knees in front of Batgirl, weeping. And although she wasn't certain, Batgirl received the distinct impression of a clear message: _take me, not him._

Barbara Gordon couldn't help but be moved by the man's sacrifice. He was a chieftain, obviously. And, just as obviously, he'd mistaken the two young women for some sort of spirit beings come to take his boy from him.

Batgirl lifted him to his feet, rubbing his arm sympathetically. _What I wouldn't give for a universal translator right now._ "Cassie? He thinks we're angels of death or something, come for his son."

"I gathered. But, from all appearances, the _real_ death angels won't be too long in coming." She glanced over at the suffering child, trying to surreptitiously hold her hand over her nose. The smell, in the confined quarters, was enough to suffocate a person. "Unless you've got some magic heal-all in that utility belt of yours."

"As a matter of fact…." Batgirl rummaged around in her utility belt, finally drawing out a small vial of what looked like blue jelly. "Biorepair nanobots." She loaded a hypospray. "Developed for injuries in the field. We've never tried them on anything this…extreme, however. Maybe they'll at least give him a fighting chance." She swiftly injected the 'bots into the arm of the feverish boy. Then she turned to the father. "It'll be alright, sir. We'll stay. We'll help." Something of her reassuring attitude got through the language barrier, and the father broke down, weeping.

….

_Well,_ thought Doomsday, _I suppose this is a change._ One minute, he'd been letting the guards back at the other place break their swords on his invulnerable hide, the next he found himself in the middle of a blizzard.

Visibility, at least for human senses, was poor, but Doomsday's eyesight was better than human. Plus, he had other senses to rely on….none of which were telling him where and when he was.

He trudged on, completely unaffected by the cold, thinking about that slave girl, and hoping she'd made it to some sort of freedom. Nobody deserves to be treated like that, he thought. There was little doubt in his mind that part of her "duties" had been of a sexual nature. While the whole concept of _sex_ was pretty much foreign to him (thankfully; it seemed like such a hassle), he had nonetheless learned certain ethics, due to his time spent studying under Bertran. Nobody should be _owned_ like that, _compelled_ to…do that.

Anyway, where was he now?

Gazing around, he could see mountains in the distance, mountains covered with ice and snow. He couldn't discern any landmarks…

His ultra-keen hearing picked up on a sound somewhere between a gasp and a scream. Where….?

He tracked the sound to a cave opening. It was small enough to keep most of the driving snow out…..he looked in.

Inside, looking at him fearfully, clad in rough animal skins, was what had to be the skinniest human female he'd ever seen. He doubted she'd weigh ninety-eight pounds soaking wet. She was also extremely pregnant and on the verge of delivery.

He carefully moved into the interior of the cave. The woman picked up a nearby spear and pointed it at him threateningly. "It's alright," he said, keeping his movements as nonthreatening as possibly. "I'm not here to hurt you." Even as he spoke, he wondered where the father was. Hopefully, he was out looking for food. Doomsday sincerely hoped that was the case. In this savage age, it was altogether too easy to go from looking for food to becoming food. "I'll just wait here a minute. You don't mind, do you?" Thus saying, he sat down a ways off from her, where he could keep an eye on both her and the entrance.

The woman's contractions began coming shorter and shorter apart. She screamed in pain each time, causing Doomsday to wince in sympathy. _Note to self: take some morphine with you next time you go time-traveling._

He eased over to her. In her distress, the monster's proximity was of secondary importance. "Here," he said, knowing she couldn't understand a word, "breathe like this….." Trying to demonstrate. After a long moment, she began to try it….

…

Oa: "So, Lantern Kilowog. You are telling us that something is breaking through the Source Wall _from the other side?_" Ganthet sounded incredulous, yet not disbelieving.

"Exactly. I dunno what, but right now, the only thing holdin' it together is this Sarah Marshall entity, whatever she is."

The assembled Guardians looked at each other worriedly. {{We had hoped it would not come to this.}} Then, to Kilowog, "And what of the Gold Lantern, Ragnar Rok?"

"She sent him with the others, to look for this 'damel-zahn' thingy. Say, what _is_ that, anyway?"

Again the Guardians looked at each other, their telepathic communication shielded from him…and from all others. "It…could be anything. But...as to specifics, we cannot say."

"What about the Corps? Should _we_ be out looking for the 'damel-zahn'?"

Llianna shook her head. "Much as it pains us to admit it, this matter appears to be out of our hands. Whoever Sarah Marshal is….she operates on a level far beyond our own. To be single-handedly holding the Source Wall together…No. She clearly intended this message to be a warning: she and her team could conceivably fail. In that case, we must make….drastic preparations if we are to save anyone at all."

….

The baby's cry split the mournful howl of the ancient Earth blizzard. Doomsday handed the infant to his mother, who took him eagerly, making cooing noises. In all the time the monster had been there, there had been no sign of the woman's mate.

Maybe he wasn't coming back.

"Sleep," he told her. "Just sleep. I'll stick around a while." She still couldn't understand him, but only part of language is conveyed by words. His comforting gestures reassured her, and she drifted off to sleep, exhausted from her ordeal.

While she slept, Doomsday sat and thought. He wasn't getting any closer to his goal, whatever it was. But it wasn't like he could just _leave_ these people.

So tomorrow, or whenever she woke up, he'd teach her about how to make and use fire, and see to it that she was as well supplied as possible. He hadn't seen any sign of fire here in the cave. If she already knew about it, good. But if not, well, it'd sure come in handy. Couldn't hurt.

_To be continued…_


	7. Chapter 7: Time and Again

The Gold Corps: Damel-Zahn, Chapter 7: Time and Again

_I don't own Young Justice. Please read and review!_

Sarah's power-pulse caught up with Ragnar, Superboy, and Artemis just as they were about to get a look at some scrolls Artemis hoped would shed some light on their exact where—and when—abouts. She, like the others, had been surprised by the obviously ancient depiction of what had to be Doomsday; she'd made a note to ask the priestess about him.

Now the trio found themselves in what looked like a whole city ablaze. Everywhere they looked, people were running, screaming. Buildings were burning, and, over all, was the sickening odor of charred human flesh; the dead and the dying littered the streets. There didn't seem to be organized defense, or any defense at all, for that matter.

Superboy noticed a group of men carrying pottery and furniture out of one of the burning buildings. Hmph, he thought. Either storeowners trying to salvage merchandise, or looters taking advantage of the confusion.

One thing they did notice: there was a group of men, mostly elderly, carrying buckets of water towards a large building of white stone, slightly raised on a hill. "What's that place?" wondered Superboy

"I don't really care," said Ragnar. Conner did a double-take; this was the first time any of them had ever heard the Gold Lantern speak anything but calmly.

"Hey, no need to bite my head off."

Ragnar sighed. "I'm…sorry. It's just…none of this is helping." Then, to his ring, "Find Megan Morse."

"_Subject is not within range."_ He muttered a word in an unknown language that Artemis knew needed no translation. She turned her head away to hide a smile. Talk about a one track mind.

But then something registered. That building, the one the fire was just now reaching…she'd seen reconstructions of it…surely it couldn't be…"Guys, I think this is the Great Library at Alexandria. The one that burned flat."

"How does this help us?" Ragnar was still looking around for Miss Martian, as though his own senses could find her when his ring's supernal senses could not.

"It may help us find the others. Evidently, we weren't all sent to the same time period; Doomsday was sent to a much earlier time. And we've seen no sign of Nightwing or Kid Flash." Even as she spoke, she dashed up the wide steps, arms over her face, fighting her way through the smoke. "Come on! If there's anything like any news or records to be had here, it'll be here!"

Superboy and Ragnar looked at each other and shrugged. She had a point.

Ragnar used his ring to clear away the smoke, and applied an inhibitory field on the worst of the fires. Superboy joined Artemis in rummaging through the various scrolls and codices. "How do we know what to look for?"

She bit her lip. "Actually, we don't. I'm looking for history files or, or archives…if the others were sent to earlier time periods, there, there ought to be, like, reports of super-powered beings. Probably calling them gods or something, the way the people in that other city did us. So go by earliest to latest….here, you start there." She pointed to a large stack of unsorted scrolls. "Look for the oldest. And you," here she motioned to Ragnar, indicating another shelf of scrolls, "start with the latest and work backward. We have to hurry; Sarah might yank us out of here any second."

While they were looking, Superboy edged over to Ragnar. "We'll find her, man. Don't worry so much. Remember, we've got one of the most powerful beings any of us have ever even heard of in our corner."

Ragnar refused to look up from the scrolls he was studying, his ring translating the written text. After a long moment, "It's just…I cannot shake the feeling that she is in mortal danger." Now he looked up at Superboy, fear in his eyes. Conner thought it interesting that he'd never seen the Gold Lantern express all that much concern over his _own_ safety. He had learned fear at the earliest age imaginable, and had learned to use fear to make himself strong. Being afraid was normal to him, and he knew how to deal with it.

But the safety of another, especially one particular other…well, Conner guessed he could understand that. "We have to find her, Conner. _I_ have to find her. No matter what."

"Well, then, why'd you leave? We all wondered about that."

"She told me to."

"You know she didn't really mean that. She was angry. People say things when they're angry they don't mean. That's the way we are."

He sighed. "I would have to take your word for it. But all I had to go on is what she said."

"Keep looking, you two!" Artemis ordered, from behind her own stack of scrolls. Curiously, the "librarians," if that's what they were, seemed to be reluctant to interfere with the three strangers rummaging through their beloved library. Artemis shrugged; as long as they didn't try to hurt anything…

"Well, take it from me, Megan can be a little excitable sometimes. Actually, to tell you the truth," and here he moved a little closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "they _all_ can be a little 'excitable,' from time to time…"

"I heard that! Get back to work!"

…

_Far away in both time and space, on the unnamed planet that had been Ragnar's home for a decade and a half, the repairs to his ship were complete. Had anyone really been allowed to take a close look at the ship, at any time, they would have noticed very little actually wrong with it. Only minor details, mostly cosmetic._

_It had mimicked a wrecked starship superbly._

…_._

_Even further away, by human standards, a small gray figure sat in a darkened room, surrounded by glowing gold-trimmed monitors. Although he'd cultivated patience longer than some civilizations had been extant, he nonetheless found himself impatiently crossloading information from what Ragnar had believed to have been his ship._

_Fascinating, he thought, as he viewed the recordings of Ragnar, Miss Martian, and the two Green Lanterns endeavoring to unlock the secrets of ages. And these "Guardians"…they could prove to be a problem. Of a sort._

_Of course, he recognized the race of the blue-skinned ring wielder. The son, he deduced, of two of his top geneticists. A pity they'd turned on him in the end. Together, they could have wrought such wonders._

_Well, they __had__ wrought a wonder. The Ultimate, of course. "Doomsday," as these short-sighted fools had named it. Imagine that! Calling the Ultimate form of Life a "Doomsday"! Well, one could hardly blame them; they were barely sentient themselves. Not to mention so shackled with their own out-of-control emotions as to be virtually mindless._

_Of course, that seemed to be the main problem with the Ultimate, as he searched what records he had. The experiment had been interrupted before it had reached fruition. The creature was all emotion and raw physical power; it had practically no mind._

_No matter. He could retrieve the Ultimate and correct that small error._

_And so thinking, Bertron began to activate his tracking mechanism. It was only a matter of time._

…_.._

Miss Martian let out another sigh of frustration. Her telepathic conversation with these people was proving to be somewhat less informative than she'd hoped.

This, she thought, almost had to be ancient China. She knew enough of the language and the overall culture to place that. But the people here simply lacked the reference points to be able to tell her exactly _when_ she was.

Not that she could really blame them. They only knew the world as it currently was for them, not in terms of any calendar used in her time.

She tried to use her senses to see if construction on the Great Wall had begun, or had been completed, to whatever degree it was. That might tell her something.

But her senses were not functioning correctly, her head was spinning and she felt weak, almost as though physically drained somehow. Probably due to the effects of her time travel, she thought; it wasn't uncommon for time travelers in the early days of Martian spaceflight to experience physiological stresses.

She had to find some way to repair or repower her bioship, she knew. Otherwise, she was stranded back here in the ancient past. Of course, she might be stranded here anyway…but no, surely there was something she could do, some way to get back to her time.

If only she didn't feel this awful dizzy, headache-y _weakness…_

…

The Watchtower: Superman and Wonder Woman met with J'onn J'onzz in one of the small offices off the main command circle. "You sent for us, J'onn?" said Superman.

"Yes, Clark, I did. Please. Have a seat, both of you." When they had done so, he turned and picked up a small file that had been resting on the desktop in front of him. "I'll come straight to the point. Ever since Batman's…disappearance…there's been a subtle shift in power. I don't think I'm stating anything that's not common knowledge when I say that, wherever Bruce found himself, sooner or later he was usually in charge of it, at some point. Whether he wanted to be or not."

The other two grimaced, slightly. Yeah, that was Bruce.

"So for quite some time, he acted as the _de facto_ leader of the League. With his…absence, that role has apparently fallen, quite by accident, to me."

Superman spoke up. "Couldn't think of anyone better for the job, J'onn. We really ought to make it official. That could forestall a whole lot of trouble…."

"Wait, Clark." Diana put her hand on his wrist. "Aren't you going to _ask_ him if he even _wants_ the job?" She turned to J'onn. "What about it, J'onn? _Do_ you want the job? You seem to push yourself sometimes, or so it seems to me. It'd be no crime to take a break every now and then, you know."

The Martian Manhunter smiled a very small, very controlled smile. He might not seem to have emotions, but he did. And he appreciated his friends' viewpoints, their concern.

But they couldn't be more wrong.

"None of that is of any importance at this point." He sat down at the small chair, swiveled to face them. "But what is of importance—great importance—is that a formal line of command be established, so as to prevent confusion in a similar event." The other two looked at each other, puzzled. What was he talking about?

He saw their puzzled looks and dropped his eyes, slightly, in embarrassment. He didn't want to have to spring this on them this way…."Because the League is about to lose another member. Me." And he nodded towards the file on his desk.

"Are you…going somewhere, J'onn?" asked Clark.

"In a manner of speaking. I am going to join my ancestors." Now he looked up, his face calm and relaxed. "Kal-El, Diana, I am dying."

….

_At least,_ thought Cassie, _there's no doubt where and when we are this time._

The dead easily outnumbered the living, for there were no living to be seen. The stench of decaying flesh and spilled insides hung over everything, along with a sharp scent Batgirl had been taught to recognize: the smell of gunpowder. Everywhere, as far as the eye could see, lay the bodies of men dressed in blue and gray uniforms, many still clutching what to the two young women were hopelessly outdated-looking firearms. "Careful, Wonder Girl," said Batgirl, "just because those pieces look like they belong in a museum, don't forget they can still kill you just as dead." She looked around; okay, American Civil War. That narrowed it down as to time and place. But exactly where?

"I _know_ that. I'm not stupid, Bar-I mean, Batgirl."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to imply you were." She kept scanning, but, try as she might, couldn't see any sign of survivors. Already, the crows and vultures were starting to gather.

Barbara Gordon had a strong stomach, but she didn't see anything to be gained by hanging around watching _that._ "Come on. Over this rise…"

The massacre had apparently extended over several small hills. Good ambush territory, thought Batgirl. It didn't really matter who'd ambushed whom; death had a way of leveling that playing field. And anyone living had already been removed from the scene. Either that, or left for a death that had already come. By comparison, that last time period, with the villagers, had been almost pastoral by comparison.

Was this the same place, but removed in time? But no, Batgirl didn't think so; the geography looked different.

But two hills over they came upon a small farmhouse. Sounds reached them, sounds of human life, of voices crying out, women shouting back and forth.

Cautiously, the two made their way to the farmhouse…

"Ah'd be much obliged if'n y'all didn't come no closer," said a pain-strained voice from inside the barn. It sounded like the owner of that voice was doing his best to stay conscious. Neither young woman had any doubt but that they were currently in someone's gun sights.

Batgirl put up her hands in a placating gesture. "It's alright, we're not attacking. We've only recently arrived. Is there something we can do to help?" Out of the corner of her eye, she noted several more dead in front of the barn…but these were in curious _fragments,_ as though they'd run headfirst into a chain saw. "What happened here?"

There was a pause, then the voice spoke up again. "Ah reckon you might be a'tellin' the truth. Y'all don't appear to be armed." Then, it was as if the person speaking turned to someone else. "Let 'em through."

The door was pulled open from the inside, and a very young and obviously very frightened black girl stood back. She didn't seem to be harmed. As they watched, another woman emerged from the darkness of the barn's interior, and pulled the little girl back, letting the two superheroes in.

Inside, lying on a makeshift bed of straw, was a white man wearing torn and stained jeans, a shirt that seemed to consist mostly of dried blood, and holding one of the antique rifles such as they'd seen outside. "Who are you? An' what're you doin' here?"

"I'm Batgirl, and my friend here is named Wonder Girl. As to what we're doing here, that would take a long time to explain. Do you need medical attention?" The man's strength seemed to be fading, even as they spoke.

He grimaced, his hand going to his belly. "Reckon Ah need more'n that. Ah'll be needin' a preacher, 'fore long. You say you're here to help? Are you with the other guy?"

Other guy? "What other guy? We came here alone."

Another grimace, and Cassie noticed several more young black girls coming forth from the shadows, their mothers in tow. A worn-looking white woman came and knelt by the man on the straw. "Don't rightfully know who he was." He paused, gathering his fading strength. Then, gesturing to the children, "I was tryin' ta get these folks to safety, or at least someplace safer. Them raiders caught us here, flat-footed, aimed to make quick work of us. Would have, too, if _he_ hadn't showed up."

Barbara sneaked a quick look outside. It wasn't quite the abattoir where they'd first materialized, but it looked to be at least a whole company…and she couldn't see any signs of gunshot wounds on any of the corpses. "One man did all that?" Could it have been Superboy? Or Ragnar? But they wouldn't have killed…

The dying man groaned. "Yeah…moved like…like nuthin' I ever saw. Didn't look like nobody I ever knowed. But…" He paused, obviously breathing his last, "If it hadn't been for him…." He coughed, bringing up blood. His wife moved to wipe his forehead, her tears steadily trickling down her face.

"Sir, this is important." Batgirl leaned forward, trying to get the dying man to focus. "What did he look like? Did he have blue skin? Or was he wearing a red 'S' on his shirt?"

"No…no, none a'that. Looked…looked like a injun, kinda. But…." His eyes began to cloud over in death; the woman's breath hitched in a sob, "but he had, he had these _swords_ growin' outta his arms…."

_To be continued…_


	8. Chapter 8: Legends

The Gold Corps: Dame-Zahn, Chapter 8: Legends

Khaldur swam as fast as he could. It wasn't fast enough.

His hard-water powers were sorely pressed to plug the gaping holes in the ship's side. Hundreds of people were already in the freezing water. It didn't have any effect on him, but he winced when he thought about the effect it was having on the humans. But there was nothing he could do about it.

His "water bearers" allowed him to focus his hard-water powers, but only over short range. He needed to expand the effect over a longer range to plug the rips in the ship's hull caused by the iceberg, and his powers just weren't up to it.

Was this the _Titanic_? He didn't know, and, at the moment, couldn't say it mattered much. The time period was fairly easy to place: it looked to be early twentieth century. Which meant no cell phones, or satellite based rescue systems. Barring a miracle, these people were on their own.

He smashed his way into one of the unflooded compartments of the ship's holds, trying to get there ahead of the water. The last thing these people needed was to be trapped inside the great vessel when it headed for the ocean bottom. Outside, on the surface, was still deadly, but less certainly so.

Out he crashed, carrying two terrified humans, one under each arm, swimming them to the life-boats. "Get away!" shouted one of the men in the boat.

"What?"

"I said, _get away!_ We can't take anymore!" The man raised a long oar, preparing to use it as a weapon.

As fast as a snake, Khaldur'ahm drew one of his water-bearers, forming it into a blade sharper than steel. The man suddenly found himself holding half an oar, looking up at the stub of it, stunned.

With a leap, Aqualad was in the boat, assisting the two he'd rescued. Then he stood up in the boat, his foot on the side railing, easily balancing against the choppy waves. "Look," he said to all of them, "I won't sugarcoat this for you; you'd know I was lying anyway. There's an excellent chance a good many of you won't see another sunrise. So I guess what you have to ask yourselves is whether you wanna go out like animals, squabbling over the last seat…or whether you wanna go out like men. Your call." And with that, he dove back into the sea.

Back to work.

….

_Well,_ thought Doomsday, _I suppose this is different, at least._ He'd materialized underwater. _Maybe somebody has a sense of humor._

Not needing to breath, he cast around for signs of land, or, failing that, some form of underwater civilization. It was possible, he thought, that he'd been sent to Atlantis, at the bottom of the sea.

But no, the ocean floor beneath his feet sloped upwards, and he followed it, emerging onto a tiny shoreline just in front of a rocky cliff that ascended skyward for at least two hundred meters. A strong, yellow sunlight beat down from a nearly-cloudless sky.

But what attracted his attention, immediately upon emerging from the water, was what appeared to be a human shackled to the cliff-face. A girl, it looked like.

_Aww, no. Not again._ He strode up the short beach, the water running off his invulnerable hide like a frictionless surface.

Yes, it was a girl, a girl with long blond hair, wearing a full-length sleeveless toga and a crown of laurel leaves on her head. She couldn't be more than twenty, at the most. Maybe less. She had her face turned away from him, and her arms were shackled over her head. Every so often, he could hear a slight sob.

_Am I stuck in double 'X' chromosome land or something?_ This was what? Three times, now? But he had to admit, with Sarah in charge of where and when he went, all this was probably not just random chance "Uh, excuse me, miss? I don't suppose you could tell me where this place is, could you?"

The girl gasped and looked up, startled to hear a _voice_ coming from the monster, and he saw that she was quite beautiful by human standards. She gazed up at him for a moment, then said something in a language he didn't know, and reburied her face in her arms again, striving to get as far away from him as possible. Well, he guessed he could understand that, too.

What was she doing here? Surely this wasn't some sort of punishment for a crime…the girl almost had to be a sacrifice. But a sacrifice to what? What was _wrong_ with these people, that they kept stakin' women out? Then he shrugged; humans were crazy. "Look, I don't know what's going on here, but you don't need to be afraid of me. I'm not gonna hurt you." But she just sobbed all the harder, her small shoulders shaking.

_Hell with __this__._ He reached out and broke open the shackles holding her, tearing the metal carefully, releasing her wrists from the iron sleeves. "There. Now, go on back to your people, 'kay? I'm not your enemy here."

But, incredibly, the girl stayed right where she was, clearly still terrified, but refusing to run. Instead, she just huddled there, clutching her arms to herself, as if waiting for some kind of axe to fall.

_Okay, this is fast getting ridiculous._ He gently picked her up—he well knew he had to watch his strength around ordinary humans, and he saw nothing to indicate this girl was anything special—and flew up over the cliff, to land on the top. A few hundred meters off was a small village, again with the usual white stone-columned temples, but mostly consisting of mud-and-straw thatched huts. A wall encircled it, the massive gate tightly closed, and he could see soldiers peering out from along the top of the wall.

He walked up to the city walls, carrying the girl, being careful to keep her away from his chest spikes. She sat still in his arms, trembling, as though waiting for some horrible fate. He wished she'd stop that. It was irritating. "Hey! You up there! This yours?" And he lifted the girl slightly, being careful himself. It wouldn't be beyond the realm of possibility for them to shoot at him and hit her, so he stood in such a way as to be able to turn away rapidly and shield her.

A titanic roar from the sea he'd just left caused him to turn, and the girl in his arms screamed. Rising up out of the water was a gigantic _something_ unlike anything he'd ever seen or even heard of. Part lizard, part fish, part other things too strange for easy categorization, it rose endlessly up out of the choppy waves and roared again. He could hear the people inside the city beginning to scream.

Yep, he thought. Sacrifice. Only he couldn't figure out the logic of it. This little slip of a girl wouldn't even be a bite to this thing, and it surely couldn't want her for any sort of sexual reasons.

Maybe it was remote-controlled. Maybe that was it. Well, at least he knew what he'd be doing with his afternoon.

He put the girl down gently, and shooed her towards the city, then turned to face the oncoming leviathan, which was just then heading towards the shore. He could feel a strong tingling as his body's Nemesis factor (as Metron had named it) began to change him, in order to outmatch and overpower this beast. Whatever it was, it had to be plenty powerful, if he needed extra powers or abilities on top of what he already possessed. "Somedays, I _just love this job!"_ And the Monster of Steel leaped into battle.

…

Far, far away, on the deserted planet that Ragnar had called home for so long, three yellow-suited figures stood by a rocky outcropping.

Thaal Sinestro directed Lyssa Drak and Arkillo in their inspections of the site. "This is where it was supposed to have begun," he said. "Look around you. Lyssa? Anything?"

Lyssa Drak took her time answering, even as he knew she would. Sometimes he felt she did that for dramatic effect. If so, it was effective. With everyone else. "I sense nothing here that would account for the events of which we've heard, my lord."

Arkillo practically exploded. "My lord! The infidel is clearly not here! We should seek him out, and kill him for violating the rules of the Corps! We are wasting time here!" Then he became aware of a dangerous silence, one he had come to know altogether too well.

He turned. Sinestro's gaze was fixed on him, with Lyssa Drak drifting off to one side, clearly not wanting any part in the exchange that was about to take place. "Arkillo. You forget your place. It is _my _Corps, _my_ rules. _I_, and I _alone_ will decide what actions to take this day. Is that understood?" The force of his gaze bore down on Arkillo like the burning desert sun.

Arkillo bowed. "Of course, my lord. I…spoke out of turn."

"Indeed you did. See that you do not do so again."

"My lord?" Lyssa Drak rejoined the pair. "Something that bears your attention." And she held out something to Sinestro, something she'd found on the ground by a small hillock.

It was a yellow power ring.

_Interesting,_ thought Sinestro, turning the ring over and over in his hands.

…..

"What, exactly, are we looking for, again?" Kid Flash had to keep his voice down. The two were currently in a warehouse in Berlin during World War II. It must be pretty late in the war, thought Dick; off in the distance, they could hear the sounds of artillery fire and bombs being dropped.

"Anything unusual. You know the Nazis were into theosophy to some degree, what with sending out their agents out across the globe, looking for evidence of their 'Master Race' theory. This is the largest repository of information we've found so far; anything they found should surely be here."

"You think the damel-zahn thing will be listed here?"

"I'm saying it's a possibility. I highly doubt damel-zahn is, like, a rock or something you can just stumble over. It's almost gotta be something…conspicuous. Anyway, keep looking." Privately, he thought to himself: these records were probably incomplete, but even if they were complete….anyway, he was pretty sure damel-zahn wasn't a weapon or anything. No destructive force could hold the Source Wall together. And what was on the other side, trying to break through into ours?—he wondered. Everyone called it "the Source," but he couldn't help but wonder: the source of _what?_

"Hey, 'Wing. Take a look." Kid Flash directed his attention to some folders he'd found, containing photographs and transcripts. "These look like they may've been taken in the Himalayas or something, maybe India?" The photos did show some people dressed in what appeared to be Tibetan type clothing.

The photos also showed some ancient-looking scrolls, and a few inscribed rocks that had obviously been enshrined or otherwise well-cared for. Accompanying them were some translations of the documents, as well as transcriptions of interviews with the _Sherpas_ or whoever the Nazi agents had talked to.

"But what's this?" He pointed Dick's attention to one drawing on a threadbare scroll. It seemed to depict a humanoid figure, posed in a battle stance, but with what appeared to be long, recurved swords springing out from his arms. Also, the figure was…somehow indistinct, as though the artist was having a hard time actually drawing the outline for some reason. "Could this be Doomsday?" They, too, had encountered stone friezes depicting the monster, presumably from a much more ancient age.

Nightwing shook his head. "Don't think so. Look at the scale. Whoever, whatever that is, isn't much bigger than a normal human being. Doomsday's always shown as being significantly larger, remember." He squinted at the words accompanying the drawing, paying attention to the translations. "Can't make this out. That word," he pointed, "looks like it translates as _blade_ or _sword._ But I can't make out the word in front of it, it's smudged. Something sword. Dark Sword? Demon Sword? Or maybe Dark Blade? Can't tell."

"Is it important?"

"Could be. Remember, we're looking for something that really ought to be fairly conspicuous….surely, it wouldn't be something we'd just trip over. But…" He squinted again, holding his flashlight a bit closer, "Either this translation is bollixed, or they got the time frames way off. This seems to show this exact same character as popping up in several places, a couple thousand years apart, even."

"Another time traveler?"

"If so, he's not one of us. Nobody I recognize, anyway. And the drawing's too crude for me to make out any features…hm. I dunno, Wally. I guess it _could_ be what we're looking for…but if so, we're out of luck. This last report—this last sighting is dated some nine hundred years ago. Does it show anything more recent? No? Well…don't know then. It's probably not what we're looking for. Anyway, keep look-*" And just at that instant, they both heard an amplified voice from outside speaking in German: _"Intruders! You are surrounded! Surrender immediately, and you will not be harmed!"_

Kid Flash and Nightwing looked at each other. Well, they had known this was one of the risks of breaking into this repository.

Dick snapped off his light, and the two of them moved to the window nearest to the point where the voice had seemed to come from. Outside, they could see a row of Panzer tanks, with uniformed soldiers standing in front, rifles at the ready.

_This is it._ Nightwing heard Kid Flash gulp. They'd both decided, long ago, not to be taken prisoner. Too much was at stake. "'S been nice working with you, 'Wing."

"Likewise—Flash." They both moved towards the door, Nightwing with his batons, and what 'rangs he had left, Kid Flash with his speed and nervous sweat. _What's it gonna be like, _he couldn't help but wonder,_ on the other side? Maybe I'll finally find out if Bruce is over there or not…little bit late, but at least I'll know._

But before any of them could act, a half-ton of Doomsday dropped down out of the sky, onto the leadmost tank, almost crushing it, and proceeded to rip it apart with his bare hands.

"_Doomsday!"_ yelled Nightwing. He'd never before thought that he'd ever actually be _happy_ to see the monster. One of life's curveballs, indeed.

Behind Doomsday, beams of golden light swiftly disarmed the ground troops, and, ripping up the street, sidewalk, and assorted lampposts, enclosed them in a wrap-around makeshift prison. Nightwing could see smoke arising from several places: Artemis's smoke arrows, and he could hear the loud _crack!_ of her stun grenades. And now Superboy and Aqualad joined Doomsday in dismantling the Panzers, with Aqualad's water-knives slicing through the steel like butter. Wonder Girl pitched in, joining Doomsday in tank demolition duty, ripping the turrets off the tanks completely, and yanking the terrified soldiers out.

Nightwing and Kid Flash joined in, with Wally using his speed to disarm and disorient the nearest troops…

"I thought you weren't supposed to start without us," teased Batgirl, just then swinging in, while at the same time delivering a roundhouse kick to a soldier who'd made the mistake of getting too close.

"Well, ex_cuse me_," cracked Nightwing, "Next time we go time-traveling, we'll try to mind our manners better."

Soon, between Doomsday, Ragnar, Superboy, and Wonder Girl, the main body of the troops had been either wrapped up—literally, in material from the streets and sidewalks—or else had decided that a tactical relocation was in order. What few tanks were left withdrew, and the heroes converged on the warehouse.

"Can't tell you how glad I am to see you guys," said Nightwing. "When I say we've been looking 'all over' for you, I mean it. Oh, and Ragnar? I guess you've met the new, improved Doomsday?" Ragnar was silent, looking up at the gray giant. The last time he'd seen this form, it had been in a permanent coma induced by his inbuilt psychic harpoon.

"Doomsday 2.0. Another timeline, I think. Goodtameet'cha." The giant stuck out his hand. "I'm told we're genetic relatives." Numbly, Ragnar shook the outstretched paw.

"Full introductions will have to wait, guys. Let's pool what we've found so far." Nightwing led them into the warehouse, where he showed them the files they'd uncovered about the odd individual or entity. "We haven't found anything that might be this 'damel-zahn,' unless that's it. But nothing else really all that unusual."

"We encountered reports of something similar," said Batgirl, "but much more recent, and on the American continent, at that. I don't think this is a fluke. Or totally coincidental."

"Never mind _that,_" broke in Ragnar. "Have you any information about Megan?"

"No. We've looked, too, Ragnar. But we can't find any mention of any green girl or any shapeshifting girl, or anything else that might answer to her description." He held his face carefully neutral, wondering if he should share his fears with the Gold Lantern: Megan was, after all, a nonhumanoid white Martian. Her current appearance, even of her "normal" green incarnation, was due to her ability to shapeshift. If she was in the distant past, and if, God forbid, something had _happened_ to her, and she reverted back to her white Martian form…well, people in ancient times had a harsh way of dealing with what they considered monsters.

He really didn't want to think about that, himself. It was true that Megan was a force to be reckoned with. But still…the notion of their sweet, innocent Megan at the mercy of a superstitious mob…a mob no doubt armed with fire….

_Change the subject._ "Did anybody come across anything that might be this 'damel-zahn' thing? No? _Nobody?_ Well, then I guess we search on…" he did a double take, looking at Doomsday. "Uh, Doomsday? Is that a _ribbon_ in your hair?"

The giant hastily brushed it out of his thin white hair. "Long story," he mumbled. Nightwing turned away to hide a grin. They'd all have stories to tell, but somehow he thought the grey giant could probably top them all. Ribbons in Doomsday's hair? He couldn't wait.

Ragnar fidgeted. "Nightwing, none of this is helping! I _have_ to find Megan!"

"_Indeed. You do."_ They heard the voice at the same time as they saw the golden flare of light that announced Sarah's arrival. _"But first, you must see."_ She gestured, and they were gone, once again, hurtling through time and space….

….to a place unlike anything they'd ever seen or imagined. In front of them was a growing cloud of…of…what? They found they couldn't really see it, or even perceive it. Their minds kept wanting to slide off of it, as though it wasn't really there. And yet it was. "Sarah? What is this place? And what's _this_?"

"I know what it is," Doomsday announced grimly. "It's Vastator. It's the End of All Things."

"_Yes, it is."_ Sarah appeared, floating in space in front of them. _"What you see is what awaits all things. It is the End. It is the Anti-Source."_ With another thought, they found themselves back at the Source Wall, the gargantuan cracks still there, still gushing golden light. The statues that comprised the wall seemed to be writhing, either in pain or in a desperate desire to escape. Or both.

Sarah faced Ragnar. _"You would find the one you love."_ It was not a question.

"Yes! Just tell me where she is!"

In response, Sarah, still glowing like a miniature nova, simply pointed.

Towards the Source Wall.

_To be continued…_


	9. Chapter 9: Endings And Beginnings

The Gold Corps: Damel-Zahn, Chapter 9: Endings. And Beginnings.

Ragnar immediately started forward. "Wait!" Nightwing had caught his arm. "Ragnar, you _can't_ go in there! It'll fry your brain or something! Believe me, it's been tried!"

"I _have_ to go, Richard! I have no choice!"

"Yeah, you do," spoke up Doomsday, coming up beside them. "_I'll_ go. I'm a good deal harder to kill than you are. I'll find her and bring her out."

"Neither of you understands!" Ragnar was almost in tears. "This is something I _have_ to do! That _I_ have to do! So don't even think about getting in my way!"

Doomsday shook his head. "Then we'll _both_ go. Two heads…"

"_Only one," _said Sarah. _"And you must hurry."_ With that, she disappeared.

"Then I'm gone," said Ragnar, with finality. He moved towards the wall, then stopped and turned. "Nightwing…I _will_ come back. With Megan." And with that, he dove into the Source Wall, slipping in through one of the ocean-sized cracks.

Nightwing shook his head. It didn't matter if God Himself was on the other side; Ragnar was still ready to take it on.

Of course, thought Dick, on a more practical level, with Sarah apparently gone to wherever, Ragnar was their only way of getting _back._ But they were still breathing in airless space, so maybe Sarah hadn't deserted them completely.

At least, he fervently hoped she hadn't.

….

Ragnar found himself in a huge dark space bordered by….nothing.

It was not a room, because rooms, no matter how large, have walls and ceilings. This place had neither. Though it did possess a floor, of sorts…a curiously invisible one.

Whatever he'd been expecting on the other side of the Source Wall, this wasn't it.

Scan with his ring as he might, he couldn't see any limits to the place he was in. It wasn't entirely lightless, but he couldn't make out where the light was coming from. But none of that mattered. Where was Megan?

Then he saw a light in the distance. It seemed to be a conical column of misty light emanating from some point high overhead, illuminating a figure lying on some sort of raised altar…

His better-than-human eyesight spotted a flash of green skin. He flew towards the scene, his heart in his throat…

_Outside:_ The others watched the Source Wall, expecting Ragnar to come jetting out of it any second. Minutes dragged by….

"That does it," grated Doomsday, "I'm goin' in after 'im." Doomsday was the only one present who could actually fly, there in the airless void of space.

"Wait, Doomsday. Remember what Sarah said? 'Only one.' If you go in there, you might mess things up."

Still the giant dithered. "But suppose he's hurt, or something?" But even as he said it, he realized the inanity of the statement. Whatever lay beyond the Source Wall was beyond any of their powers to affect, even his. Doomsday might be a new definition of tough, but against a power than could shatter whole universes, that didn't count for much, and he knew it. He chafed in frustration.

There was a flare of green light, and Arisia and Kilowog materialized out of it. "Guys! What's going on?"

"It's a really long story, Arisia, but right now, the short version is this: Sarah just indicated that Megan was on the other side of the Source Wall. Do I have to tell you where Ragnar went?"

"No. Ohmygods. He went in _there_?" She sucked her breath in through her teeth. "Everybody, hell, every_thing_…that's ever tried that ended up a trophy on the Source Wall." She looked around at the vast expanse of alien architecture. "But I don't see him, anywhere. So…where is he?"

"Still in there, alone," grated Doomsday. "But not for long." And with that, he shot off towards the Source Wall, angling in towards the same crack Ragnar had entered.

"_Doomsday!"_ But the monster had already shot into the crack, and was beyond hearing.

_The Other Side:_ Ragnar had found Miss Martian.

She lay, apparently unconscious, upon a raised bier or platform of some sort, hands folded across her chest, her cape wrapped tightly around her, legs straight. Her eyes were closed and her expression was relaxed and composed.

He felt a coldness in his chest. She looked dead.

He watched her carefully for signs of life. Did Martians breathe? He guessed they must, but…he could detect no signs of life in her.

_No._

Gently, tenderly, he slid his arms underneath her, lifting her up, and held her to his chest. Ragnar had never heard of gods, aside from those who'd fought the other Doomsday. Nonetheless, he prayed. He prayed to Whoever might be listening: _Please. Do not take her from me. Let her be alive._ Then he felt the very faintest whisper of an intake of breath, and his joy knew no bounds. "It's going to be alright, Megan. It's going to be alright." And he brought her unconscious face up to his and kissed her, his tears falling onto her face.

_The Martian physiology has evolved over millennia to make maximum use of any moisture present. So when Ragnar's tears fell upon her face, they were absorbed in the ever-efficient Martian manner._

_Also absorbed were some odd protein chains completely and utterly foreign to both humans and Martians, but adaptable to both. These protein chains found themselves in a new environment. With something so very much like intelligence as to make no difference, they analyzed their new home, mapping the Martian genome with a speed that would have been the envy of Earthly supercomputers. And they detected the intruders, the invaders, that were even then in the act of destroying their new home._

_The viral chains did precisely what they had been designed to do. With incredible precision, and completely defying the laws that normally governed such matters, they altered themselves in certain precise ways, and moved to attack the invaders, create more of their kind, to repair and defend._

_Battle was joined._

A hand on Ragnar's shoulder jolted him back to, to wherever he was. Doomsday was standing right behind him. "Is…is she…?"

"I, I don't know. I think she's breathing…"

"Then come on. Let's blow this joint." They looked around. There were no exits visible, no differentiation in the darkness at the edge of vision. "I think I came in this way," Doomsday said, pointing. "It's as good a place to try as any." They both looked around, even as they took off. This vast empty space was the other side of the Source?

_Outside:_ the Team members and the Green Lanterns were beginning to get nervous. There'd been no sign of the two since they disappeared into the cracks nearly an hour ago. On the positive side, those cracks didn't seem to be getting any larger.

Kilowog was the first to spot them. "Look!" Ragnar and Doomsday, both dwarfed by the titanic wall, emerged from a nearby crack. Nightwing noticed that the "statues" were no longer writhing in either pain or escape-seeking, and, oddly enough, while the cracks were still there, the light behind them no longer seemed to be pouring out into space.

Ragnar flew up to them, carrying Megan, with Doomsday in tow. "She's…hurt. She needs medical attention." He didn't even notice Arisia and Kilowog there, his attention being focused on Megan.

"No prob," Arisia snapped her fingers, "Oa's only a teleport tube away."

"But wait!" Doomsday put out a hand. "We haven't found this damel-zahn thing! Won't things just get worse?"

"_But you have, Doomsday of Krypton."_ Sarah's voice echoed throughout their heads. _"And they will not. Look and see."_ And behind them, the mighty cracks in the Source Wall began to _heal_, to repair themselves, ever so slowly at first, but gaining in speed….

Oa: They ushered Miss Martian straight into the Guardians' primary medical facility. "Hm," mused Ganthet, "we have seen this sort of thing before. There is a disease, a plague, that attacks the Martian physiology on a cellular level. It seems to come and go in cycles…Lantern Arisia!" Arisia started upon hearing her name. "Are there any other Martians extant in Earth's solar system?"

"Uh, yeah, there's J'onn J'onzz, with the League."

"You'd best contact them, let them know the plague is back, and ascertain his condition. It is invariably fatal, for both species of Martians."

"_No!_" Ragnar burst out. "There's got to be something you can do!"

The Guardians looked at each other. "Do not distress yourself, young one. For one thing, and quite contrary to all previous experience, her body seems to be fighting off the virus. She is 'holding her own,' I believe the term is, though exactly how, I am not quite sure. And as it happens…" And here he floated a bit closer to the distraught Gold Lantern, "as it happens, it may be possible to synthesize a cure. From you. You know you have a remarkable healing factor; if we can adapt that to her biology, perhaps we can cure not only her of this plague, but any others afflicted with it. But we would need some of your blood. Is that agreeable to you?"

Ragnar immediately extended his arm. "Take it. Take all of it, if you need it."

"Ah, I don't believe we'll need quite that much. Just step over here…."

…..

Megan's eyes fluttered open. The light hurt her eyes, at first, and she had to blink several times, the nictitating membranes that all Martians have criss-crossing her pupils a few times, moisturizing her eyes, after their having been closed so long.

She turned her head laboriously, almost expecting to hear a _creak_ of the disused muscle. Sitting by her bed was Ragnar Rok, half-drowsing, with a large bandage on his upper left arm. "R-ragnar?"

Instantly, he was at her side. "Don't try to talk, just yet, Megan. You've been through quite an ordeal." She looked up and saw the IV bag of clear fluid over her head, the connecting pipette to her arm… "You're very weak. Rest. Get your strength back."

"But…what happened?" Then, "I…waited for you…."

"Sh. Rest. Everything else can wait. I'll be here." And with that, she passed out again.

Arisia caught Ragnar out by the water dispenser. "How's it going?"

He gulped down the water. "She's still very weak. The medics are telling me she has a lot of…damage, I guess you'd say, on the cellular level. But she's healing. It will just take time."

Arisia digested that for a moment. "Okay. But how's it going with you?"

"Me? I…don't know what you mean."

Arisia's gaze softened, looking at him. "Ragnar. How do you feel about her?"

He dropped his gaze, there in the hallway. "I. I, I love her, Arisia. At least, I think I do."

"Uh huh. So. Now what? What will you do?"

"I don't know. I've never been in love before…I don't know what I should do. I don't know how to act."

"Yeah, well, it's kinda an on-the-job training type thing. No two couples are exactly the same." She drank the rest of her water, the poured some more into the disposable cup. "But one thing I can _definitely_ tell you is the exact _wrong_ thing to do: leave. Like with what happened last time. Ragnar, people say things in the heat of anger they don't mean. She practically cried herself into a coma when you left and nobody could find you. Yes, she did," she said, at his surprised look. "She was sure she'd run you off. Don't do that to her, ever again. Okay?"

He was silent, examining his watercup. Then, "It…wasn't what I wanted to do, not at all. I, I just thought she'd be happier if I left…"

"Well, now you know better. So don't do this anymore, 'kay? 'Cos if you do, I'll have to hunt you down and, and, and….do something horrible to you. I'll have to use my imagination. And trust me: you _do not_ want me to use my imagination. Not on a thing like that." She quirked a smile at him. "So now, go on back in there and, and, just be with her." As he moved back down the hall, she called out to him. "Ragnar?" He turned to look back at her. "_Never_ let her go."

….

"We still do not understand, Lantern Kilowog. But you say the Source Wall is stabilized? For now?"

"Yeah. We saw it beginning to repair itself. Whatever this 'damel-zahn' thing was, we either didn't need it, or we found it, 'n' didn't realize it."

The Guardians looked at each other. Kilowog had the eerie sensation that they knew a lot more than they were telling, but, he guessed, that was nothing unusual. Just another day in the life of the Green Lantern Corps.

….

Miss Martian came back to full wakefulness to find Ragnar still there, seated in a recliner by her bed. "Ragnar? Have you been here the whole time?"

"No." He yawned. "I stepped out to get some water earlier. Arisia…explained some things to me."

She blushed. "Like how people sometimes say things they don't really mean?"

"Yes. I'm still a stranger here, Megan, so some things will take time for me to learn. But one thing I can say, and mean: I will not leave you, Megan. No matter how many times you tell me to. I've always fought for everything I needed, and, Megan, _I need you._" His intensity made her look away.

"Well, I guess….I can deal with that." She absently brushed her hair back over her ear. "Sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

"I, I must look dreadful…"

He got up and crossed over to her, taking her in his arms as best as he could. "You look," he said, "beautiful."

….

Back at Mt. Justice: the Team was going over their recent adventures. As Nightwing had predicted, Doomsday had some stories to tell. "And these things just kept on _happenin'_ ta me! Every time I turned around, some _femme_ was gettin' it, right where it hurts the most. I think that time with sea creature must'a been from some Greek myth or something. It sorta felt like it, somehow."

"Or from an event that later became a myth, or legend, more accurately." Nightwing shook his head, hiding a smile. He still couldn't get over the ribbon in Doomsday's hair. Apparently, he'd become quite the lady's monster, back then.

Prior to the meeting, he'd done some checking of ancient history books. It seemed that there were more than a few mentions of a hulking gray humanoid who'd defended people in the face of terrible, monstrous threats. Purely fables, of course. Had to be. A monster that fought other monsters? How much sense did that make?

But although history was a favorite subject of his, he couldn't recall those stories ever being there before their adventures began.

Ragnar sat by Megan, not quite touching her, but very very close. "And the good news, Nightwing, is that the Guardians were able to synthesize a cure for the Martian plague from my blood. So that particular disease is basically extinct. I understand J'onn J'onzz was also afflicted. Now, he, too, is cured."

Megan reached under the table and took his hand, smiling at him. "Thank you, Ragnar."

He looked startled. "For what?"

"Tell you later." He still had a lot to learn, but she wouldn't have had it any other way.

"Well, _any_way, I can't find any mention of this unknown entity we found records on. If he's a meta, he's been keeping an awfully low profile." Dick frowned. Not even Batman's data files had anything beyond the occasional legend. Considering that these were _freakin' Batman's data files_, that was saying something.

"Nightwing, I'm curious." Artemis had been silent, taking it all in. "What _was_ this 'damel-zahn' thing, anyway? We either found it, or it proved to be unnecessary, because apparently matters got handled…"

"If I may," spoke up Ragnar, "I've a theory about that. Mind you, it's only a theory, but in absence of anything else, it seems to make sense."

"Okay. Roll with it. Uh, that means, go ahead, tell us."

He was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "It's called _The Source._ The name implies that it is the source, perhaps the source of all we know. Correct?" Nods of heads all around the table. "And Sarah called Vastator the 'Anti-Source.' I think…I think the Source must be, at least in part, a, a dimension of imagination? And all things spring from there. Perhaps everything that is, is…somehow _imagined_ into existence, somewhere. Perhaps by some higher being, or perhaps, even, by us, in some curious way. The Anti-Source…swallowed everything imaginable, and could not be analyzed. And didn't Superman once say, of his adversary, this Mr. Mxyzptlk, that he was a being from a 'fifth dimension,' which Mxyzptlk himself once described as being the dimension of _imagination?_

"So perhaps the Source is the wellspring of all imagination. And Vastator, whatever it was, whatever it may ultimately have been, was upsetting the balance between reality and un-reality, causing the cosmic equivalent of a, a flash flood: a drastic imbalance between two opposing forces, with those two forces attempting to neutralize each other, with us in the way. 'Us' being all existence."

"But then, how did it get fixed?"

"Various and sundry small changes, relatively small victories. You have a legend, here on Earth, of a boy who forestalled a flood by thrusting his fingers into the wall between the water and the town. We did much the same, fueling mankind's imagination with our exploits." He shrugged. "And, of course, there is nothing to say we acted alone. There could easily have been innumerable others, out across the stars, doing much the same thing. The cumulative effect restored the balance, and kept Vastator from breaking out, annihilating all that is."

"Hm." Dick rubbed his chin. "That…makes a certain amount of sense. So…'damel-zahn' wasn't just a thing or event, but a _series_ of events, and our reaction to them, our perception of them as a whole. I can see it." Then he shrugged. "But I guess, unless Sarah Marshall pops up and just tells us, point blank, we'll never really know for sure. For right now, at least, it's the best we've got to go on.

"And we've no idea how Megan got trapped, if that's the word, beyond the Source Wall, unless, of course, Sarah transported her there by some way and for reasons we can't even guess at." He shook his head. "I hate having more questions than answers, but it seems to be the way we roll, these days.

"Doomsday? What about you?"

The monster looked up from his private reverie, hearing the name he'd come to be called by. "Dunno. I had thought, once this matter got taken care of, that I'd automatically pop back to my universe. But it may easily be my universe doesn't exist anymore." He spread his hands. "I still can't get anybody on my time communicator. So I don't know."

"Well, you're more than welcome to stay here with us. We may have to keep you under wraps—that other version of you made quite a few enemies, to put it mildly—but we can totally do that. At least, I guess we can.

"Which brings me to my final point. Ragnar, what did you do with the comatose Doomsday body?"

"I secreted it in a cave on an asteroid near the Source Wall. I shall go retrieve it, of course."

"Not without me, you won't," said Megan, hooking her arm through his. "I've had enough of this you-on-the-other-side-of-the -cosmos thing. I'm going with you."

He looked at her, a rare smile on his face. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

_The End_

Epilogue One: As the meeting was breaking up, Doomsday sought out Nightwing. "Uh, Nightwing? Gotta question."

"Shoot."

"I'm familiar with the superheroes—and villains—in this time period. But…just who is 'Superman'? I keep hearing his name."

Nightwing was taken aback. Doomsday? Never heard of Superman? But then, _this_ Doomsday _did_ come from another timeline….

Epilogue Two: The three yellow-suited figures flew from solar system to solar system, systematically seeking their quarry.

Sinestro's mind was awhirl with questions. There was no doubt that they'd found a yellow power ring back on Ragnar's home world. It obviously had not been on his finger…or had it?

If Ragnar Rok had ever wielded a yellow power ring—and all the evidence pointed to him as doing so—the only way the ring could have come off would be if Ragnar Rok ceased living. And that obviously hadn't happened.

Had it?

Epilogue Three: Far, far out across the cosmos, Bertron's instruments began to yield results. Excellent. He'd located the Ultimate. All he had to do was retrieve the body and make suitable repairs.

But this bit about a Gold Lantern intrigued him. Evidently, this Ragnar Rok shared genetic material with the Ultimate. That was surely not to be cast aside, even if Ragnar Rok was clearly inferior to the Ultimate. No doubt some useful data could be gleaned from examining him. And so he set plans in motion…

After all, there was certainly no logic in _wasting_ the efforts of his two top geneticists, even if they had turned against him, there in the end.

Epilogue Three-point-five: Arisia was just leaving Oa, heading for her next assignment. She smiled, thinking about Ragnar and Megan, together, as they should be. They made such a cute couple.

But right at that moment, like a shooting star crossing the night in her mind, it occurred to her: Megan—Miss Martian—had been pretty sick. At death's door, as the human saying went. The Martian ability to shapechange is a conscious ability, requiring conscious thought. Yet, no matter how sick she'd become, no matter what desperate circumstances she'd undergone, she had not reverted back to her white Martian form. She hadn't even reverted to her fake _green_ Martian form. Instead, she'd stayed just the way they all knew her, in the form of an Earth girl with green skin. And that just didn't make any sense, no matter how you looked at it.

_Oh, well_, thought Arisia, as she approached the warp point, _I'm sure there's a good, logical explanation for it._

The End.


End file.
